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                           American Wrestling Alliance
                                 Proudly Presents
                                     No Escape

                      Live from the Greensboro Coliseum
                           Greensboro, North Carolina
                               September 7, 2009
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[As the closing credits theme of "Good Times" slowly starts to fade, it
is replaced by a closeup shot of a piece of steel mesh - the kind of
steel that will be used later in the night to assemble the cage.  The
voice of Gordon Myers replaces the music.]

"It is professional wrestling's ultimate battlefield."

[Zoom in closer on the steel.]

"It tears flesh.  It shreds skin.  It draws blood."

[Closer.]

"It shortens careers."

[Cloooooser.]

"And on this night in Greensboro, the cage goes up and the lights go out
as two of the AWA's finest step into the squared circle surrounded by
hard and sharp steel.

Two men enter.

But only one man will walk out the winner."

[As close as you can possibly get.]

"Nowhere to run.  Nowhere to hide.

For Juan Vasquez and Raphael Rhodes, on this night...

...there is No Escape."

[The shot of the cage fades to black as the sound of "Tobacco Road" as
we fade into the interior of the historic Greensboro Coliseum.  The
arena is obviously not sold out but the fans who have come out have come
out in force, screaming their hearts out as the camera pans over them. 
A steel barricade surrounds the ringside area and lines the aisle
leading back to the locker room area.  The ring sits alone in the middle
of it all with red, white, and blue ropes on the squared circle with a
white canvas and blue ringposts.

The camera cuts to ringside where a small timekeeper's table is set up a
few feet away from a slightly larger announce table.  At the announce
table, our two announcers are standing and facing the camera as it comes
to rest upon them.

Gordon Myers is dressed to the nines in a black suit and white dress
shirt.  He is all grins as he looks out over the cheering fans.  By his
side is former manager now announcer... excuse me, the 2008 Announcer Of
The Year, Bucky Wilde.  Wilde is dressed to the ELEVENS! in a gawd-awful
purple jacket and orange dress shirt.  He's also apparently invested in
gold lately as there is a horrific looking gold chain hanging around his
neck.]

GM:  Good evening, fans, and welcome to the final stop on the AWA's
summer tour for 2009 - Greensboro, North Carolina - the Greensboro
Coliseum to be more precise as we present No Escape!  We've got seven
big time matches for you all here tonight and Bucky, it's an exciting
night here in Greensboro.

BW:  You've got that right, daddy.  Two title matches, more grudge
matches than you can shake a stick at, and the first one-on-one steel
cage match in the AWA!  It's being called No Escape but you couldn't
drag me away from ringside, Gordo.

GM:  We've got well over seven thousand fans here tonight in Greensboro
and they are in for one heck of a show.  You mentioned the cage match -
the big showdown between Raphael Rhodes and Juan Vasquez - a rivalry
that's been brewing since late 2008.  You talked about the two title
matches - Kentucky's Pride defending the National Tag Team Titles
against Calisto Dufresne and Adrian Freeman.  Plus, the National Title
Match as Adam Rogers finally - FINALLY - cashes in that title shot he's
been hanging onto for months when he meets "Hotshot" Stevie Scott with
the biggest gold in the land on the line.  We've got all of that plus
much, much more and to kick things off, let's get things going right
away with our opening match!

[We dissolve away from the announce team to the ring where Melissa
Cannon is standing in a snazzy red and white dress that shows off her
assets mighty fine.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... WELCOME... to NO ESCAPE!

[Big cheer!  The cheers quickly die down as Cypress Hill's "Rock
Superstar" starts up over the PA system.]

MC:  Tonight's opening contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty
minute time limit.  Introducing first... from Boston, Mass... standing
6'4 and weighing in tonight at 255 pounds...

He is the "Superstar"...

KEVVVVINNN SLAAAAAAATERRRR!

[Slater pops through the curtain with his arms spread out and a big grin
on his face.  He nods at the jeering crowd, slipping his sunglasses down
on the edge of his nose to look at them disdainfully while making his
way towards the ring.]

GM:  The former Wild Thing is on his way down the aisle and you can hear
the reaction from these Greensboro fans, Bucky - they are not fond of
Kevin Slater's change of attitude we've seen as of late.

BW:  And Slater couldn't care less, Gordo.  He realizes that the fans
got him absolutely nowhere in this business.

GM:  Nowhere?  What about those two World Titles he's so fond of
mentioning to us?

BW:  Did the fans get inside the ring with him and win those titles,
Gordo?

GM:  Not at all but you can bet that their support helped him a great
deal when he was battling Hall of Famers like "Crimson" Joe Reed and the
Syndicate.

[Slater climbs up on the apron, stepping through the ropes into the
ring, and immediately going into a slow arms-spread turn, soaking up the
boos of the crowd as his music starts to fade...

...and is replaced by "Hot Stuff" by Donna Summer.]

MC:  And his opponent... from Phoenix, Arizona... standing 5'11 and
weighing in at 220 pounds...

SCORRRCHINNNNN'
SHAAAAAAANE TAAAAAAAAYLOR!

[A decent-sized reaction for the younger member of the Taylor family
comes through the curtain with his arms raised.  Taylor is wearing
full-length tights along with a neon orange vest.  A cigarette dangles
from just behind his ear as he walks down the aisle, slapping hands with
the ringside fans.]

GM:  And here come Shane Taylor.  What are your impressions of the
younger Taylor brother, Bucky?

BW:  He's got a tremedous set of guts on him.  He stood toe to toe with
Grant Stone several months ago.  And now he's stepping in there with a
two-time former World Champion.  He's definitely not intimidated to get
inside the ring despite a serious lack of experience on the big stage.

GM:  Taylor's competed mostly in the Southern region for the past
several years although he has had several tours of Japan as well.  He's
never had a shot at the big time though like you said.  

BW:  Despite the fact that his big brother has fought all over the world
in some of the biggest promotions running.  As much as Bobby likes to
let his little brother do his fighting for him, you'd have to think-

GM:  He does not let Shane do his fighting for him!

BW:  Oh really?  Shane Taylor took on Grant Stone before Bobby did. 
Shane Taylor is stepping in there with Slater because Bobby won't.  What
would you call it, Gordo?

[Shane Taylor rolls under the ropes and starts to make a move towards
Slater but gets cut off by Mickey Meekly who throws his body in front of
Taylor.  The fiery Taylor points a finger of warning at Slater, his
fists balled up at the ready as Meekly forces him back across the ring
towards the corner...

...until Taylor shoves Meekly aside, sprinting across the ring towards
Slater, leaping into the air and using his body weight to knock Slater
back into the corner.]

GM:  Here we go!  Taylor wasn't about to wait!

[With Slater on the ropes, the younger Taylor throws rights and lefts to
the body of the Superstar as Mickey Meekly calls for the bell to
officially start the match.  Taylor adjusts his position in the corner,
throwing his right hand over and over into the gut of his former
friend.]

GM:  Taylor's all over him in the corner!  He's takin' it to-

[Grabbing Slater by the back of the hair, he YANKS him backwards,
snapping him down to a seated position, his head and neck smacking the
buckles in a whiplash-type motion.]

GM:  Good grief!

BW:  Shane Taylor's off to a quick start and I think he knew this is
what he needed to do, Gordo.  If he doesn't catch Slater off-guard,
there's no chance he can compete with him in my opinion.

GM:  Taylor's right on him!  Stomping him into the corner!

[With Slater seated on the mat, Taylor grabs the top rope and fires in
stomp after stomp to the chest of the former Wild Thing.  The referee
dives in again, forcing Taylor back out of the corner as the crowd
cheers him on...

...and again shoves past Meekly, barreling across the ring and dropping
down in a baseball slide kick to the "midsection" of Slater that draws
an "OHHHHHHHHHH!" from the crowd.]

BW:  That's a low blow, Gordo!  Ring the bell, Meekly!

GM:  Shane's telling the ref he caught Slater in the gut.  

BW:  My eyes and reality say differently, daddy!

GM:  Taylor drags him up by the hair... 

[He promptly shoves Slater over the top rope, reaching under the middle
rope to hook a pulling choke on the Superstar.]

BW:  That's a blatant choke and these fans are actually cheering this
maniac!  Shane Taylor is out of control and he should be disqualified
right now, Gordo!  

GM:  The referee is laying a count on him.  What more do you want?

BW:  I want a DQ!  Taylor doesn't care if you count to eighty!

[Shane Taylor breaks the choke at four, smirking at the protesting
official as he holds hands up, pleading innocence...

...and then mulekicks the suffering Slater in the ribs, chuckling as
Slater falls down to his knees on the mat.]

GM:  Scorchin' Shane Taylor is really doing a number on Kevin Slater in
the early going of this one.  

[A hard kick to the back of Slater's head knocks him forward, leaning
over the middle rope.  Taylor promptly steps through the ropes to the
apron, backing all the way to the ringpost...

...and then charging down the apron, leaving his feet with a big legdrop
across the back of the neck that snaps Slater's throat down on the
middle rope, sending him sprawling back to the middle of the ring.]

GM:  Listen to these fans!  Kevin Slater tormented them for months with
that The Man With The Money garbage and now they're finally seeing
someone make him pay for it!

[Taylor rolls back under the ropes into the ring, getting to his feet
with a cocky grin on his face.  He waves his hands up, getting even more
cheers from the crowd.  Leaning over, he grabs Slater by the hair to
pull him off the mat...

...and EATS a lunging European uppercut right on the button that sends
Taylor falling backwards to the corner.  Slater springs to his feet,
suddenly full of energy as he stalks his prey.]

GM:  Kevin Slater might have been playing a little possum there, Bucky.

BW:  He might have been and what an idiotic move that was by Taylor. 
Typical youthful mistake.  He had Slater in trouble and he took the time
to wave to these morons in the crowd.  Now the two-time former World
Champ is gonna make him pay for it.

[With Taylor leaning back in the corner, Slater steps up to the plate
and uncorks a brutal forearm smash to the side of the head that knocks
Taylor down to a knee.]

GM:  Tremendous forearm by Slater.

BW:  The years and injuries may have taken some of the speed from
Slater.  Some of the high flying as well.  But they have not taken away
his ability to batter an opponent with forearms and elbows.  He's one of
the hardest hitters in the AWA, Gordo.

GM:  Slater's got him trapped in the corner...

[The "Superstar" yanks him off the mat by both arms, shoving him back
against the buckles, and snaps off a big knife-edge chop across the
chest that echoes through the building...

...to which Taylor responds with a balled-up right hand to the chin.]

GM:  Taylor's trying to fight out of the corner!

[Slater straightens up and throws another big chop...

...and eats another big right hand to the chin!]

GM:  They're trading shots in the corner - chop by Slater... right hand
by Taylor!  

[The crowd roars for the exchange as Slater rattles the pectorals of the
Arizona native who fires right back with a haymaker of his own...

...and then another... and another... and another!]

GM:  He's got Slater backpedaling!  The Superstar is- ohhh!  Raked the
eyes!  What a cheapshot by Slater!

BW:  You weren't too concerned during all those chokes, Gordo.

[Grabbing Taylor by the head and neck, Slater turns him around into the
opposite corner, uncorking another big chop across the chest before
grabbing Taylor by the arm.]

GM:  Irish whip from Slater to the opposite corner... here he comes!

[The Superstar leaves his feet in a corner body splash...

...but Shane Taylor sidesteps the move, causing Slater to slam into the
buckles!  Big cheer!]

GM:  And now it's Slater who may have made the mistake!

[The hurting Slater spins out of the corner...

...and gets his eyes raked!]

GM:   Haha!  Payback is a you-know-what!

[A now-blinded Slater staggers away, clutching his eyes as Taylor slips
up behind him...

...and rakes his fingers down the back of the Superstar to another big
cheer!]

GM:  Backrake!  Shane Taylor is breaking out all the dirty tricks in
this one!

[Grabbing the blinded Slater by the back of the hair, Shane Taylor
charges across the ring, leaping into the air over the top rope, and
SNAPS Slater's throat down over the top rope strand!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  What a move by Shane Taylor!

[Taylor dives back into the ring, lunging across the downed Slater.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Slater gets the shoulder up at two!  And that was our
first pin attempt of the matchup, Bucky.

BW:  Taylor's been too busy cheating to go for a pin until then.

[A leaping kneedrop from Taylor finds the mark and as he gets to his
feet, Kevin Slater is rolling as fast as he can, going under the ropes
and out to the floor.]

GM:  These fans letting Slater have it.  Diving out of bounds there to
save himself.

BW:  No one cries when a quarterback does it.  I should know - nothing
on TV this weekend except the danged football peoples!

GM:  You're not a football fan?

BW:  Let's see 'em take the sissy pads off and then we'll talk.

[The referee starts a ten count on the recovering Slater but Shane
Taylor's not exactly one for rules, stepping past the referee and out to
the apron.  He pauses there, pumping a fist to the crowd before leaping
off with a double axehandle...

...that Slater cuts out of the sky with a perfect standing dropkick to
the chest!]

GM:  Ohhh!

BW:  Slater's still got some hops left in those surgically-repaired
knees!

GM:  Shane Taylor miscalculated there and paid the price for it.  He's
down and he is hurting.  What a dropkick there by the Superstar.

[Slater slowly climbs off the barely-padded concrete floor, shaking his
head back and forth to clear the cobwebs as he leans over to pull his
spunky opponent off the mats...

...and promptly HURLS him into the steel barricade!]

GM:  Ohh!  INTO THE STEEL GOES SHANE TAYLOR!

BW:  I think Slater's done with this kid.  He's going for the kill now.

GM:  Shane Taylor's upper body just collided violently with that
unforgving steel railing and that's exactly what it's going to be like
later tonight when Raphael Rhodes and Juan Vasquez climb inside that
massive steel cage.  I was here earlier when they practiced setting it
up.  Did you see the size of that thing?

BW:  It's huge and very, very dangerous... insert your own punchline,
daddy.

GM:  Give me a break.

[With Taylor laid out against the steel, Slater drags him off the floor
again, placing his opponent's throat on top of the railing...

...and then leans down on the back of his neck, choking the life out of
him!]

GM:  The referee's got a count going on both men now and I don't know if
they're even aware nor if they even care!  This is a brutal matchup and
we're just getting started, Bucky.

BW:  If you thought you were going to see some friendly, gentle battles
of competitive spirit, you're watching the wrong show.  These boys want
to kick each other's teeth down their danged throats, daddy.

GM:  Slater breaks the choke... and he rolls under the ropes at the
count of eight... 

[...and then rolls right back out to the jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  Oh, come on! 

BW:  Oh, these people were LOVING it when Shane Taylor was laying down
the beating!  Now the shoe's on the other foot and they're hating life? 
Boo friggin' hoo.

GM:  Slater's back out here now, grabbing Taylor off the railing and- 

[The announce team's mics suddenly go silent as Kevin Slater irish whips
Taylor right towards them, sending a loud clatter of muffled thumps and
crashes as Taylor gets laid out on the table and Bucky and Gordon take
several steps back as Slater moves towards his opponent.

With Taylor sprawling on the table, Slater takes the opportunity to grab
him by the hair and throw a powerful right hand to the side of the face.

"WHERE'S YOUR BROTHER?"

Another punch connects.

"WHERE'S BOBBY?!"

Another punch hits the mark.  Slater then climbs up on the table, using
it to step over onto the ring apron where he drags Taylor back to his
feet.  Both men stand on the apron as the announcers stay at bay,
looking up in trepidation as Slater winds up with a big right hand.  He
lets the punch fly...

...but Shane Taylor ducks under it, hooking his former friend around the
waist, hoisting him into the air, and depositing him tailbone-first down
on a bent knee.  The impact of the atomic drop sends Slater sailing off
the knee and INTO the steel ringpost where he crumples off the apron,
crashing down flat on his back on the floor to the roar of the crowd!]

GM:  Fans, I hope you can hear us... sorry about the silence but we were
in a pretty dangerous position there.  It looks like it's safe for us to
re-take our spots now though, Bucky.

BW:  Are you sure about that?  Good lawd, Gordo.  It's raining bodies
all around us here and-

GM:  LOOK OUT!

[Without warning, Shane Taylor hops up on the middle rope, holding an
arm high as he LEAPS off the ropes, sailing over our announce duo and
SMASHING down on the prone Slater with an elbowsmash!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

BW:  He coulda killed us, Gordo!

GM:  It was a dangerous move by Shane Taylor - for both him and us!

BW:  Not to mention Kevin Slater.  He absolutely pummeled Slater's gall
bladder with that one!

GM:  His gall bladder?

[The camera closes on Shane Taylor who is lying on the floor next to his
former friend, clutching his own tailbone from the impact of hitting the
barely-padded floor.  He slowly regains his feet to the roar of the
crowd who are chanting "TAY-LOR!  TAY-LOR!  TAY-LOR!"]

GM:  And for the first time that I can recall, the chant of TAY-LOR is
not for Bobby Taylor but for his brother, Shane!  How fantastic is that!
 What a feeling this kid must be going through right now.

[Reaching down, Taylor peels Slater off the floor, rolling him under the
ropes into the ring.  He rolls in behind him, immediately diving across
the downed Slater.]

GM:  We've got one!  Two!  Th- no!  Kickout at two!  

[Shane Taylor pushes up off of Slater, grabbing him by the hair and
drilling him with a pair of right hands before climbing to his feet. 
Grabbing Slater by the wrist, he drags him towards the corner on the
mat.]

BW:  Now what is this lunatic doing?

GM:  Shane Taylor hops up on the middle rope... 

[A big cheer goes up as Shane Taylor holds his clenched left hand high
in the sky...

...and leaps from his perch, driving the fist down into the skull!]

GM:  FISTDROP!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- OHHHHH!

[The crowd buzzes with disappointment at Slater being able to snake the
shoulder off the mat just before the three count comes down.  An annoyed
Shane Taylor slaps the mat before getting back to his feet, reaching
down to pull Slater up again.]

GM:  Taylor has him back on his feet... boot to the gut...

[The Scorchin' One hits the far ropes, rebounding off, and right into a
strut across the ring...

...before dropping to his knees right in front of Slater, uncorking a
stiff uppercut to the chin that knocks Slater backwards, sending him
sprawling against the ropes.  A grinning Shane Taylor regains his feet,
moving in to bury a boot to the gut again.]

GM:  Slater is doubled up... what is Taylor doing?

[The crowd begins to buzz loudly as Taylor steps forward into a standing
headscissors...

...and the buzz only gets louder as Taylor gestures for a piledriver.]

GM:  Oh my god!  He's going for a piledriver?!

BW:  Wait a second!  Somebody's gotta stop this!

GM:  Don't do it, Shane!  He's not worth it!

[The referee rushes forward, pleading with Shane Taylor not to go for
the piledriver.]

BW:  I suppose you condone this, Gordo!

GM:  Not a chance.  I don't condone ANYONE using a piledriver under ANY
circumstances!  It's just too dangerous!  It's just too- 

[But before Taylor can hoist Slater off the mat, the Superstar stands
up, sending Taylor sailing over the ropes...

...and down to the concrete floor below!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!  SLATER BACKDROPS HIM TO THE FLOOR!

BW:  Well, thank God for that.  I don't know what got into Shane Taylor
but that was totally uncalled for.  I know he dislikes Kevin Slater
something fierce but a piledriver is... is...

GM:  It's inhumane, Bucky.  I mentioned in the opening that a steel cage
can shorten a career.  A piledriver can END a career.  You could put
someone in a wheelchair for the rest of their life with a piledriver. 
There's a reason that move is banned in several states in the union,
Bucky.  Shane Taylor did himself no favors in my book by attempting that
piledriver.

[A stunned Slater kneels on the canvas, shaking his head in disbelief
before rolling under the ropes to the floor where he immediately starts
stomping the downed Taylor.  He grabs Taylor by the head, firing him
under the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  Slater rolls in after him... he's pulling that right elbowpad
off...

[He yanks Taylor off the mat, letting loose a wild shout before
UNCORKING a fierce Lariat that knocks Taylor inside out and dumps him
down to the mat.  The referee presumptively drops down to count but
Slater shakes his head, heading towards the corner, and promptly scaling
the ropes from outside the ring.]

GM:  I don't think Taylor's getting up after the backdrop to the floor
or the Lariat but Slater's going up top anyways...

BW:  After Taylor went for the piledriver, I wouldn't blame Slater for a
single thing he tries to do now.

GM:  I don't know if I'd go that far- HE LEAPS!!

[Slater takes to the air, not even pausing to pose for the crowd, and
BURIES the flying elbowsmash in the heart of his former friend.  A
still-irate Slater pops back to his feet, looking down at the motionless
Taylor...

...and yanks him off the mat, tugging him right into a front facelock,
and quickly lifting him into the air, SPIKING him skullfirst into the
canvas!]

GM:  DDT!

BW:  No, no, no... make no mistake, Gordo.  That was the Cattlebuster
DDT!

GM:  That's gonna do it.  

[Slater rolls Taylor to his back, putting a single hand in his chest as
he kneels next to him.]

GM:  One.  Two.  And there's the three.

[The "Superstar" gets back to his feet, ordering the referee to raise
his hand as he continues to glare at the unconscious Shane Taylor.]

MC:  Your winner of the match... KEVIN SLAAAAATER!

[Slater snatches his hand away from the referee now, still staring at
Shane Taylor as the referee attempts to position himself between Taylor
and Slater.]

GM:  This may not be over, Bucky.

BW:  Like I said, after that piledriver attempt, I don't hold Kevin
Slater responsible for a single thing he tries to do to this kid.

GM:  Slater's got his eyes locked on Shane Taylor and...

[Suddenly, Slater ducks through the ropes, dropping down to the floor to
make his exit.]

GM:  Oooookay.  I'm sure I'm not the only one who was expecting a
post-match assault by Slater.  These fans seem just as confused as I am.
 Kevin Slater is walking out of here victorious but I for one want to
know what he's thinking right now.

BW:  I'm sure he'll be happy to let us know in due time, Gordo.

GM:  I'm sure.  A valiant effort for Shane Taylor but he comes up short
in his efforts.  Fans, coming up next, we've got the big $50,000
Challenge match between Shane Destiny and Tumaffi.  If you recall, this
rivalry all started back at The Main Event in March when Tumaffi
returned to the AWA on the same night that Shane Destiny debuted causing
Destiny to feel a little... slighted.  They've been after one another
ever since then and tonight, it finally goes down with $50,000 going to
the winner.  Jason Dane is standing by backstage to get some words from
the mighty Tumaffi!

[We fade from ringside to the locker room area where Jason Dane is
standing.]

JD:  Thanks, Gordon.  I am currently backstage waiting for Tumaf- ACK!

[The mammoth form of Tumaffi abruptly comes into view.  The black floral
silk-robe clad behemoth requests the microphone from Jason Dane, who
very quickly obliges him.]

Tumaffi: DESTINY!  HEAR ME!

Tumaffi has thought much on your words, Destiny.  You have explained
yourself.  Very well.  We will now settle this in combat, as it was
always meant to be. 

But perhaps, Shane Destiny, you do not know what it is you face. 
Several weeks ago, you seemed perplexed that a savage from the wilds of
Samoa would have money.  And even now, you seem to think that Tumaffi is
a primitive animal.  Do you wish to know who Tumaffi is, Shane Destiny? 


Tumaffi was the son of a Prime Minister, a man who did anything to gain
and sustain political power.  Tumaffi thus grew up in the trappings of
civilization, and saw it for what it was... a hypocritical quagmire of
lies, backstabbing, and deceit.  My father was removed from office in
disgrace, only to be replaced with an equally corrupt functionary. 
Tumaffi thus determined that such a life was not to my liking.  Tumaffi
heard the tales of our ancestry... mighty Samoa's proud warrior
tradition!  And Tumaffi wondered how such a proud people could have
fallen into such disarray.

All due to civilization.  The things the mainland brought to us as if
they were gifts.  Gifts!  Samoa is slowly sinking into the same muck as
the rest of mankind... greed, corruption, and politics.  And Tumaffi
wished to rise above this.  To be an exemplar to my people, the proud
Samoan people who deserve better than the dogs that have dragged them
down.  That is why Tumaffi has embraced the savage ways of days gone by!
 That is why Tumaffi wishes only to be the mightiest warrior who lives! 
And now, it is you, Shane Destiny, who have made money a concern...
Tumaffi has no love of money.  The lust for money is the root of very
much evil, and Tumaffi prefers the time-honored approach of doing battle
to see who is the mightiest!  For that is who Tumaffi is, Shane
Destiny... TUMAFFI IS WHO I HAVE CHOSEN TO BE!

And you, Shane Destiny, are you truly the man you claim to be?  There is
only one way to find out!  Come!  Face me!  And we will both learn
together what we are made of!

[With that, Tumaffi sets the microphone down, and heads toward the
entrance curtain.]

JD:  You heard the man.  Fans, don't you dare go away cause we'll be
right back with Destiny versus Tumaffi!

[From a smiling Jason Dane, we fade to black.

After a moment, we fade back up on a very long shot of the exterior of a
pretty dingy looking building.]

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

"Of your friends and family seeing you on television?"

[And just a little closer, revealing a red, white, and blue sign that
reads "AWA Combat Corner."]

"Well, now you can make all your dreams come true by signing up today at
the AWA Combat Corner - the official training school for the American
Wrestling Alliance!"

[We cut to the interior of the building where we can see lots of
standard gym equipment surrounding a very basic wrestling ring.  There
are people lifting weights, running on treadmills, and of course,
working out in the ring.]

"With the very best trainers in the business, the AWA Combat Corner is
the most-equipped training facility to get you in shape and get you in
the ring in the shortest amount of time!"

[Cut into the ring where Todd Michaelson is barking out instructions.]

"With former World Champion Todd Michaelson leading the classes, you can
guarantee that you will be prepared for in-ring action upon graduation
and with the AWA expanding by the day, you will have a place to work on
Day One!"

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

"So, stop by the Combat Corner today... call our offices... visit our
website... and let them know that you want to be the next AWA Superstar!
 You want to be the future of the business!

You want to wrestle!"

[Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner.  We
freeze there for a moment...

...and then fade back to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is the $50,000
Challenge!

[Big cheer!]

MC:  It is scheduled for one fall with a thirty minute time limit.  Both
men are bringing $25,000 to the ring and the winner will take all!  

Introducing first...

[A single deep bass drum beats... BOOM.  Then again, a little louder. 
And again.  With the sound of rain in the background, the drum beats
resound throughout the arena, like the approaching footsteps of some
terrible monster.  Upon their climax, the crackling BOOM of a
thunderbolt is heard over the PA as the behemoth form of Tumaffi steps
forth from the curtain to the roar of the crowd.  

The monstrous Samoan pays the fans little mind as he marches down the
aisle.  A mountain of muscle and fat, the dark-toned Tumaffi has massive
shoulders, thick limbs, and a big round gut.  His hair is nearly as
mountainous as his physique, as he sports a wild black mane that would
make a lion envious!  His long, cascading hair and beard seem connected
in a way that leaves little visible determining point as to where one
ends and the other begins.  So hairy is the man that it is difficult to
make out his brown-eyed, big-nosed face.]

MC:  Coming down the aisle... from the isle of Samoa... weighing in at
405 pounds...

[Clad in a loose flowing black silk robe with a dark-colored floral
design, Tumaffi strides up the ring steps and onto the apron.  He wrings
his taped hands expectantly, before stepping through the ropes to a big
cheer.  Shedding his robe to reveal full-length black trunks with
metallic copper outlined patterns on it (depicting a beachfront storm),
and taped bare feet, Tumaffi thrusts a duffel bag presumably filled with
cash into the air with a loud bellow that the crowd echoes.]

GM:  And there's Tumaffi's $25,000 you'd have to assume.

BW:  Let's count it.  I don't trust him.  He's got shifty eyes, Gordo.

GM:  Would you like to tell him that yourself?

BW:  He seems like an honorable guy.  I trust him.

GM:  That's what I thought.

[Tumaffi hands the duffel bag over to Marty Meekly, settling back in the
corner as the music changes.  "True Faith" by New Order begins to filter
through the public address system]

MC:  And his opponent... weighing in at 252 pounds, from Southern Pines,
North Carolina...

SHAAAAAAAAAAAAANE DESSSSSSSSSTINY!

[Shane Destiny walks out of the entrance, clearly not happy about
something.  He's sporting a new royal blue robe with his name imprinted
on the back in rhinestones, and he is carrying a steel briefcase,
apparently carrying his half of the $50,000 challenge.  He walks up to
the ring and makes the referee spread the ropes for him, before walking
over to Melissa Cannon and, while the audio is not picked up, Destiny
appears to be sternly saying something to her as she seems flustered at
being publicly berated.]

GM: What is Destiny complaining about now?

[Destiny finishes yelling at Melissa as his music fades, and he backs up
into his corner.]

MC: Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Destiny has given me a correction.  He
wanted me to make it clear that he is _not_ from North Carolina...

[The crowd immediately starts booing at the betrayal of one of their
favorite sons.]

MC: ... but instead, he is now from Las Vegas, Nevada.

[The boos intensify, as Destiny smirks, removing his robe to reveal
royal blue wrestling trunks, kneepads, and wrestling boots.]

GM: I don't know what to say, fans... Shane Destiny has apparently
rejected his own home state!

BW: Well of course!  These people haven't deserved a wrestler the talent
of Destiny for a long time!

GM:  This is ridiculous.  Destiny just taunting these fans by refusing
to claim North Carolina as his home state... and now he's taunting
Tumaffi!  This guy is nuts!

[With Marty Meekly standing between them, Destiny holds up the metal
briefcase, slapping the side of it repeatedly, pointing at Tumaffi who
doesn't respond, not budging from the corner.  Nodding his head, Destiny
hands the case over to the official who gives it to the timekeeper who
places it next to the duffel bag on the table.  Meekly stands in the
middle, arms spread to keep the two men in their corners...

...and then calls for the bell to start the match!]

GM:  Here we go!  The 405 pound Tumaffi against a man who has held gold
throughout the wrestling world, the incomprable Shane Destiny.  

BW:  And with 50 grand on the line!  

GM:  This should be something else.

[The two men walk from their corners, Tumaffi striding out to the middle
of the ring, glaring a hole right through the egotistical Destiny who
pauses for a moment, looking around at the cheering crowd before doing
the same.]

GM:  Eye to eye, nose to nose... what's gonna happen here?

[Destiny gets right up in Tumaffi's face, running his mouth as quickly
as he can, jabbing his finger into the meaty chest of the mighty Samoan.
 Tumaffi's eyes go wide at the blatant disrespect and his hands
immediately shoot out, wrapping around the throat of Destiny as he backs
him into the corner.]

GM:  And this is NOT where Shane Destiny wants to be!

[Tumaffi winds waaaay back with his right hand, determined to put it
through the chest of Destiny...

...who ducks down, slipping under Tumaffi's raised arm and out of the
corner where he quickly moves to the middle of the ring.]

BW:  This is what Shane Destiny needs to do if he wants to stand a
chance against Tumaffi.  He needs to use his speed edge... his
quickness.  He needs to avoid the big attacks from Tumaffi and try to
use the big man's size against him.

GM:  Tumaffi's coming for him again!

[The mighty Samoan stomps out of the corner, heading straight towards
Destiny who is backpedaling towards the opposite corner.  As Tumaffi
draws closer, Destiny hooks his arms over the top rope, using it to kick
both his legs up into the air and squarely into the chest of Tumaffi,
knocking the big man back a couple of steps.  The Samoan comes back in,
looking to tie him up...

...but Destiny again ducks under the effort, slipping out to the middle
of the ring where he shouts "COME ON!" to the mighty beast.]

GM:  Destiny is doing exactly what you suggested so far, Bucky.  He's
avoiding Tumaffi and running around the ring.

BW:  Of course he is.  He's as good of a wrestler as I was a manager. 
And I'll tell you with all this running, he's going to drain all the gas
out of Tumaffi's tank in a hurry.

[Destiny again ducks under the rampaging Tumaffi's attempt at a wild
right hand, snapping off a series of jabs to the jaw of Tumaffi before
tugging his head down and BLASTING him with a European uppercut that
seems to stagger the big man.]

GM:  Shane Destiny currently ranked #10 in our Top Ten while Tumaffi
checks in at #7.  That could turn the opposite way if Destiny picks up
the victory here.  And that's what it's all about.  The $50,000 aside,
everyone's trying to battle up the Top 10 and earn a shot at the
National Title currently held by Stevie Scott.  And who wouldn't want to
see Tumaffi against Stevie Scott?

BW:  Stevie Scott.

GM:  The same could be said for Shane Destiny as well.  I don't think
the Hotshot would be too eager to face Destiny in a singles match
either.

BW:  I'd agree with that.  Let's run down the resume.  Destiny's a
former champion in Los Angeles, in Michigan, in St. Louis.  He's beaten
men like Macht Kraftwerk, like Chris Courtade, like Juan Vasquez... the
list goes on.  Shane Destiny is one of the top stars in our business and
is a threat to win the National Title on any given night.  And if Stevie
Scott doesn't know that, you can bet Ben Waterson is WELL aware.

[With Tumaffi reeling from the striking assault by Destiny, the man from
Las Vegas snaps off a big chop across the massive chest of Tumaffi.]

GM:  Ohh!  What a chop by Destiny!

BW:  Uh oh.

[The crowd roars as Tumaffi's eyes go wide after the chop.]

GM:  Tumaffi didn't even feel it!

BW:  Of course he felt it... it just didn't- 

GM:  Ohh!  Another chop by Destiny!

[The crowd roars as Tumaffi steps towards Destiny, shaking his head at
his attacker.]

GM:  Tumaffi says you're gonna have to do more than that, bubba!

BW:  Bubba?

GM:  And another chop!

[Destiny backpedals a step as Tumaffi comes closer, slapping his own
chest and leaving massive red handprints on his own flesh.  Destiny
steps up, throwing another chop...

...and this time Tumaffi responds with a big chop of his own, knocking
Destiny flat to the cheers of the crowd!]

GM:  DOWN GOES DESTINY!

[The former North Carolinan drops to the mat, rolling quickly under the
ropes and out to the floor where he clutches his rapidly-reddening
chest.  Inside the ring, the mighty Tumaffi points a finger of warning
at Destiny, waving him back into the ring.]

GM:  Tumaffi wants more!  He wants Shane Destiny back inside that ring
right now!

[Destiny turns his back on the ring, shouting at a few ringside fans
giving him a hard time...

...which allows Tumaffi to lean over the top rope, grabbing Destiny by
the hair, yanking him up on the apron!]

GM:  He's gonna bring Destiny in the hard way!

[Grabbing Destiny under the arm, Tumaffi biel throws him over the ropes,
sending him crashing down on the mat!]

GM:  Ohhh my!  Destiny is down again!

[Destiny immediately goes into retreat, scooting backwards on his rear
towards the ropes, raising up a hand to beg for mercy as Tumaffi stalks
towards him.]

BW:  Come on, ref!  Destiny needs a breather!

GM:  Why is that the ref's problem?  Shane Destiny got himself into this
situation and he- ohh!  Destiny goes to the eyes!

[The blinded Tumaffi staggers away as Destiny gets back to his feet and
promptly DRILLS the mighty Samoan with a running clothesline that knocks
the big man back against the ropes.]

GM:  Big impact on that clothesline... Tumaffi's having some- here comes
Destiny!

[In the middle of the ropes, Destiny manages to scale to the middle
rope, throwing punches down at Tumaffi...

...who simply reaches up and HURLS Destiny down to the mat in the middle
of the ring!]

GM:  Oh my!  Look at the power!  

BW:  Destiny's right back up though and...


"WHAAAAAAAP!"


GM:  OHHHH!  Tumaffi takes him down with that big chop again!

BW:  Did these idiot fans just boo Tumaffi?

GM:  I'm pretty sure that was a "Woooo."  

BW:  Woooo?  What does that mean?

GM:  No idea but I kinda like it.

[Drilled with the chop, Destiny again rolls under the ropes to the
safety of the ringside floor area.  This time, he takes a few steps back
from the apron, not wanting to expose himself to being dragged into the
ring again.]

GM:  Shane Destiny flees to the floor again and he's getting under the
skin of Tumaffi.

BW:  Pretty easy to do with as fat as Tumaffi is.  I heard he lost the
remote control for a week once... couldn't figure out where he'd left it
until he raised his arm and it fell on the couch.

GM:  Would you stop?  Uh oh!  Tumaffi's coming out after him!

[With Destiny badmouthing the ringside fans again, he's completely
unaware as Tumaffi drops down to the floor and comes around the corner
to where Destiny is standing.]

GM:  Destiny doesn't see him... Tumaffi spins him around and...

[Destiny frantically throws a right hand that Tumaffi blocks before
bringing his own right hand squarely down on top of Destiny's skull in a
chop that knocks the Las Vegas native to a knee.]

GM:  Ohh!  Big chop there!

[With Destiny kneeling before him, Tumaffi lets loose a wild bellow as
he brings both arms up, and slams them both down on the shoulders and
neck of Destiny with a Mongolian chop!]

GM:  Destiny's down again!

[Destiny drops down to the mat, hands immediately up to clutch his neck
as Tumaffi stands over him.  Reaching down, the Samoan hauls him up to
his feet, hooking him under the arm again...

...and HURLING Destiny through the air with another biel throw, this
time slamming him down on barely-padded concrete!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[Destiny clutches the small of his back as a glaring Tumaffi looks down
at him.  Tumaffi looks up at the ring where Marty Meekly is counting him
and decides to throw Destiny back under the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  Destiny back inside... Tumaffi up on the apron...

[With Tumaffi on the apron, Destiny rushes his opponent, smashing him
with a running forearm to the side of the head.  Destiny throws a series
of forearms, trying to topple Tumaffi off the apron but the big man does
not fall.]

GM:  He's trying to knock him down but he just can't do it, Bucky!

BW:  Tumaffi is a hard man to take down.  It's like trying to chop down
a... well, a tree would be polite... I'm thinking the Statue of Liberty.

[A dazed Tumaffi before him, Destiny grabs the Samoan's big mane of
hair...

...and delivers a huge headbutt!]

GM:  Headbutt!

[But, of course, it's Destiny who staggers back from Tumaffi, clutching
his skull as a smirking Tumaffi shakes his massive head at his
opponent.]

GM:  Did Shane Destiny not do his homework?  Nobody headbutts Tumaffi! 
Nobody!

[Tumaffi steps one leg through the ropes, ducking his head under...

...as Destiny races towards his opponent, DRIVING a knee into the side
of Tumaffi's head.  Destiny quickly grabs Tumaffi by the hair, pulling
him the rest of the way into the ring.  A trio of chops knocks Tumaffi
back against the buckles.]

GM:  Tumaffi looks a little dazed from that running knee from Destiny. 
Shane Destiny may have gotten his first effective offense of the match.

BW:  You have to wonder if the headbutt was part of that plan - maybe
trying to lure Tumaffi into a false sense of confidence.  Destiny just
seems too smart for that headbutt.

GM:  Destiny grabs him by the wrist... big whip...

[Tumaffi's 405 pounds hit the turnbuckles on the far side of the ring as
Destiny leans back in the opposite corner, letting loose a bellow of his
own as he stampedes across the ring...

...and DRILLS the stunned Tumaffi with a running clothesline in the
corner!]

GM:  The running clothesline hits the mark and Shane Destiny is in
control for this first time in this match.  Destiny steps up to the
middle rope... he hooks a side headlock in the corner...

[Leaping off the middle rope, Destiny DRIVES Tumaffi's face and head
into the canvas with a bulldog headlock!]

GM:  Middle rope bulldog!  He got all of that!

[Rolling the 405 pounder to his back, Destiny applies a lateral press,
ordering the count.]

GM:  We've got one!  We've got two!  And that's all.  Tumaffi kicks out
at two... pretty easily, I'll add to that.

BW:  If you knew anything about wrestling, you would know that a pin
attempt isn't always an effort to win the match.  Making someone kick
out of a cover is also a way to wear them down and when you're taking on
a 405 pounder, wearing them down is the most important thing you can do,
Gordo.

GM:  You sound like you want to get out there and give Destiny some
instructions, Mr. Manager.

BW:  As little as my work behind this mic is appreciated by those morons
watching at home these days, maybe I should, Gordo.

GM:  I think I'd like to see that.

[Destiny regains his feet, driving home a few stomps to the chest and
head area.  He nods his head at the jeering crowd, backing to the corner
for a moment before coming back out, leaping into the air and driving
his knee down into the massive skull of Tumaffi!]

GM:  Big time kneedrop by Destiny!  Right on target!  

BW:  You could paint a bullseye on the skull of Tumaffi and Destiny
would have hit dead center on it.  You'd need quite a bit of paint
though.

GM:  I hope Tumaffi's watching the replay of this match tonight.  I want
to see you run for the hills the next time he gets near you.

[Staying on his knees on the mat, Destiny throws a few right hands into
the skull of Tumaffi...

...and applies a double-handed choke!]

GM:  Come on, ref!  Blatant choke right there!  

BW:  The ref's counting.  What more do you want?

GM:  Very funny.

[Destiny breaks the count at four, looking up innocently at the ref...

...and then locks his hands around the windpipe yet again, gritting his
teeth as he tries to strangle the air out of the big Samoan.]

GM:  Three!  Four!  Fi- very close right there.  He almost got himself
DQd.  And if he gets disqualified, he loses his half of the $50,000,
Bucky.

BW:  Don't you worry about that.  Destiny's not about to get
disqualified.  He knows exactly what he's doing inside the ring... and
outside if it comes to that.

GM:  Destiny back to his feet... a few more stomps to the skull... 

[The Las Vegas resident walks around the downed Tumaffi, stomping here
and there when the mood strikes...

...and then leaps into the air, dropping a knee down on the leg of his
rival, a blow that causes Tumaffi to sit up, bellowing in pain.  Still
kneeling on the leg, Destiny throws a quartet of hard right hands that
knocks Tumaffi back down on his back.  With a bloodthirsty look on his
face, Destiny gets back to his feet, stomping down on the knee that he
just dropped all his weight on.]

GM:  He's going for the knee!  Destiny's going after the knee of
Tumaffi!

BW:  Which is another brilliant strategy.  A 405 pounder... if he's
gonna have a soft spot, it's going to be the legs.  Destiny is going for
the knee and if Tumaffi can't stand, you know he can't throw his weight
around.

GM:  More stomps to the knee... more kicks to the leg...

[Destiny reaches down, grabbing the foot of the downed Tumaffi and
lifting it up.  He quickly applies a spinning toehold, wrenching the leg
of the Samoan around his own.  Leaning over, Destiny screams at
Tumaffi.]


"BRING IT, BIG MAN!  THAT ALL YOU GOT?"


[He breaks the submission hold but quickly slaps it back on, torquing
the knee even more...

...but this time leaning over a bit too far, allowing Tumaffi to reach
up and pop him over the skull with an overhand chop that forces Destiny
to break the hold, falling back into the ropes.]

GM:  Tumaffi breaks the spinning toehold with a chop... and the big man
is trying to get back to his feet...

[Quickly getting to his knee, Tumaffi grimaces as he tries to get off
the mat...

...and catches a running kick squarely to the injured leg, causing
Tumaffi to fall back into a seated position against the ropes.]

GM:  And Destiny goes right back after the knee, shaking off the effects
of that chop...

[With Tumaffi down on the mat, Destiny puts his boot on the throat of
the big man, hanging onto the top rope for more leverage as he pushes
down on the windpipe.]

GM:  Another choke... three... four... fiv- and just barely breaks in
time again.

[Still holding the top rope, Destiny swings forward and smashes his knee
into the face of Tumaffi, causing the big man to slump backwards between
the bottom and middle ropes, his upper body hanging over the ring apron.
 Destiny quickly steps through the ropes to the apron, measuring the big
man...

...and dropping off the apron, bringing the point of his elbow down on
the throat of Tumaffi!]

GM:  Ohhh!  He tried to decapitate the massive Samoan with that one,
Bucky!

BW:  Perfect execution.  I love it.

GM:  Tumaffi is gasping for air now... he's had his legs taken out from
him and now his air as well.  Shane Destiny has a gameplan here tonight
and so far, he's executed it to perfection in my opinion.


"TEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  TWENTY MINUTES REMAIN!"


[Out on the floor, Destiny flips Tumaffi onto his chest, his upper body
still hanging over the apron.  With two hands full of long hair, Destiny
pulls Tumaffi's torso up...

...and then SLAMS him down into the edge of the ring apron, Tumaffi's
sternum crashing into the solid piece of wood and metal!]

GM:  Good grief!

BW:  Shane Destiny is dedicating this night to everyone who thought his
career was over... to everyone who thought he was finished... just
because of some woman.  Shane Destiny is NOT finished.  Shane Destiny
just may be better than ever!

GM:  He pulls Tumaffi's head up again... and SLAMS his chest down into
the apron again!  The edge of that ring apron is not some soft part of
canvas, Bucky.  It's solid steel and wood!

BW:  It's the kind of spot that could crack a bone and Shane Destiny
knows it.

[With Tumaffi still prone and hanging over the apron, Destiny backpedals
a few feet towards the ringpost...

...and charges back in, lashing out with a kick to the side of the
face!]

GM:  Ohh!  Another brutal shot by Destiny... and quite frankly, I have
to admit this is the worst position I think we've EVER seen Tumaffi in. 
He's a massive giant of a man but right now, Shane Destiny's got him
chopped down to size.

[Destiny rolls back into the ring, grabbing Tumaffi by the ankle and
dragging him away from the ropes towards the corner.  With the big man
still down, Destiny hops up on the middle rope, waving for Tumaffi to
get up to his feet, begging him to rise.]

GM:  Destiny wants Tumaffi to get up... and the giant will oblige...
slowly rising...

[As Tumaffi reaches a knee, Destiny leaps into the air with a double
axehandle blow aimed for the skull...

...but Tumaffi stands, wrapping his massive arms around the waist of
Destiny and snatching him out of the sky.]

GM:  He caught him!  Tumaffi caught Destiny!

[The crowd roars as Tumaffi walks out to the middle of the ring with
Destiny slung over his shoulder.  Without warning, he powers Destiny up
into the air, again snatching him out of the sky across his broad
shoulders...

...and DRIVES back down to the canvas with a thunderous Samoan Drop!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  SAMOAN DROP!

BW:  No!  No!  No!

GM:  That might do it right there, Bucky!

[A weary Tumaffi rolls over, throwing his 405 pounds across the chest of
Destiny.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- OHHHHH!

[The crowd roars with disappointment as Destiny just barely fires the
shoulder off the mat in the nick of time.]

GM:  And this match just turns like a top!  Shane Destiny was in total
control, working the big man over but one big counter from Tumaffi has
turned this match on its ear!

[Pushing up off the mat, Tumaffi regains his feet, standing over the
downed Destiny...

...and lets loose a mighty bellow before leaping in the air, dropping a
405 pound leg across the chest of Destiny!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!  DID YOU SEE THAT?!

BW:  See it?  I felt it!  I think it might have set off the seismic
meters in California!

[Still tired, Tumaffi just sits, his leg over the chest as he orders a
count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- 

[But Destiny pushes up on the leg, escaping the pin attempt before the
three count can come down.]

GM:  I think if Tumaffi had gone for a regular pin attempt there - if
he'd gone for a lateral press - this match would be over, Bucky.  

BW:  You may be right.  Destiny just shoved the leg off him to break up
that pin.  

GM:  Tumaffi slowly gets back to his feet, Destiny getting up as well...

[As Destiny reaches his feet, Tumaffi hooks him from the side, hoisting
him up...

...and dropping him down across his knee in a backbreaker!]

GM:  Backbreaker!

[With Destiny stretched out over his knee, Tumaffi pushes down on his
face and thigh to bend his spine a little more, drawing some cries of
pain from Destiny...

...and then lashes out with a right handed downward chop across the
windpipe, taking Destiny down to the mat!]

GM:  We talked about Destiny trying to decapitate Tumaffi - well, the
Samoan just returned the favor!

[The referee drops down to count but Tumaffi simply shakes his head,
dragging Destiny up off the mat, and shoving him back into the nearest
corner.]

GM:  Destiny backed into the corner...

[Tumaffi squares up and unleashes a brutal chop across the chest.]

GM:  Big chop by the Samoan!  And there's another!

[The two big chops have Destiny clinging to the top rope, trying to stay
on his feet...

...and making him easy prey as Tumaffi does a full turn, lashing out
with a spinning backfist to the skull!]

GM:  BACKFIST!  GOOD GRIEF!

[The impact of the blow knocks Destiny off his feet, putting him down in
a seated position in the corner.  Tumaffi backs away from the corner,
heading to the opposite side of the ring...

...and spins back, charging in, and DRIVING a 405 pound backside into
the face of the seated Destiny!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHH!

BW:  Destiny was eclipsed by that!  You couldn't even see him anymore!

[Tumaffi steps through the ropes to the apron, dropping down to the
floor before reaching in to pull Destiny's head back across the canvas,
his head leaning back off the apron.]

GM:  Destiny's in trouble.  This is exactly what he did to Tumaffi and-

[The crowd gasps as with a mighty bellow, Tumaffi brings his knife-edge
overhand chop down HARD on the windpipe of Shane Destiny, causing the
victim to sit up, smacking into the ropes before falling back down to
the mat gasping for air.]

GM:  Good grief!  Tumaffi nearly took his head off with that one!

[With Destiny still hanging backwards, Tumaffi grabs the ropes, dragging
himself back up on the apron.  He nods his head as the crowd buzzes with
anticipation.]

GM:  What in the world is he thinking about here?

BW:  I don't think I want to know.

GM:  Tumaffi's on the apron... he's set...

[The 405 pounder takes three steps down the apron, leaps into the air
with his leg extended...]

GM:  LEGDROOOOOO- OHHHHH!

[At the last possible moment, Shane Destiny rolled frantically to his
left, causing Tumaffi to miss the legdrop, smashing hard on his tailbone
on the ring apron!]

GM:  Destiny just saw his life flash before his eyes but he got out of
the way just in the nick of time!  Shane Destiny just barely got out of
the way of that legdrop, Bucky.

BW:  He rolled faster than he ever has before because he knew what might
happen if that legdrop connected.  End of match?  Certainly.  End of
career?  That's possible too.

GM:  Destiny rolls back into the ring, still grabbing his throat...

[Grabbing the top rope, Desting steps up on the middle rope, kicking his
legs out, and swinging back in, DRIVING both feet squarely into the side
of Tumaffi, knocking him off the ring apron and down to the floor
below.]

GM:  Ohh!  And Tumaffi gets knocked back out to the floor.  Fans, we've
got to take a quick break.  The tape machines are running if this match
were to end during the break but don't you dare go away!

[We fade away from a shot of Tumaffi laid out on the floor to black.

After a moment, we fade back up on a shot of Jason Dane and Mark
Stegglet in an apparently moving car.]

JD:  Hey, AWA fans - so much of our lives are now spent on-the-go,
wouldn't you love to be able to keep track of your favorite AWA
superstars when you're away from home?

MS:  I know I would, Jason!  And I'd also love to have a place to put
out all those rumors we hear during the week that never make AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling.

JD:  You've got that right.  Wouldn't it be great if we could combine
both of those ideas into one?

[Suddenly, a giant graphic of an iPhone appears between them!]

JD & MS:  NOW WE CAN!

[A voiceover takes over - thank God.]

VO:  Starting today, you can download AWA Access - a great new
application for your iPhone where you can get all the AWA news, rumors,
and happenings before the rest of the world.  And don't forget to check
out the "exclusive" section for matches that never aired!  AWA Access -
coming to an iPhone near you!

[Fade back to black...

...and then back up on live action where Shane Destiny is kicking at
Tumaffi in the corner.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans... during our short break, Shane Destiny got
Tumaffi back inside the ring and has re-established control of this
matchup.  He's got Tumaffi trapped in the corner, working him over with
kicks and blows to the body.  


"FIFTEEN MINUTES.  FIFTEEN MINUTES.  FIFTEEN MINUTES GONE BY!"


GM:  We've reached the halfway point in the time limit although with the
beating these two have put one another through, I can't imagine they'd
make it all the way to the time limit, Bucky.

BW:  I can't believe they made it this far!

GM:  Destiny grabs the arm... Irish whip out of the corner...

[Destiny charges across the ring, leaving his feet, and smashing a
stunned Tumaffi with a leaping forearm smash in the corner.  Nodding his
head at the jeering crowd, Destiny grabs Tumaffi by the arm again.]

GM:  Another whip... and here he comes!

[The Las Vegas resident charges across the ring again, leaping into the
air...

...and getting snatched out of the sky by Tumaffi, THROWING him down to
the mat in a thunderous uranage type slam!]

GM:  OHHHH!  TUMAFFI WITH THE BIG COUNTER!!

[Tumaffi steps out of the corner, slapping his own chest a few times to
bring the crowd to their feet...

...and then gestures for a gorilla press!]

GM:  Uh oh!

BW:  We've seen this before!

GM:  No one will ever forget the horrifying sight of Tumaffi throwing
Erik Reid over the ropes in a gorilla press, straight down on solid
concrete!  Erik Reid has not wrestled since that night and who could
blame him?

[Tumaffi drags a dazed Destiny off the mat by the hair...

...and hoists him high overhead in a gorilla press!]

GM:  He's got him up!  He's looking out here to the floor!  These fans
are going absolutely nuts!

BW:  These fans make me sick.  We're talking about a man's career here!

GM:  Tumaffi's setting up... he's gonna throw Destiny to the floor! 
He's gonna- HERE HE COMES!

[The big Samoan starts to rush across the ring, Destiny still held high
overhead...

...but Destiny reaches down with his right hand, raking the eyes of
Tumaffi and allowing himself to slip free of the press slam attempt,
landing on his feet behind the mighty Samoan!]

GM:  Destiny gets free!  He went to the eyes to do it but he's loose!

[Surprisingly, Destiny tries to seize the moment by attempting to wrap
his arms around the massive waist of Tumaffi.]

GM:  Waistlock suplex?

BW:  He wants to dump Tumaffi on his damned head with a German!

[But there's no chance of that, Tumaffi simply driving backwards,
sandwiching the dazed Destiny between a 405 pound rock and the hard
place of the ring corner!]

GM:  OHHH!  HE SQUASHED HIM IN THE BUCKLES!

[Turning around, Tumaffi grabs Destiny by the arm, firing him across the
ring in a whip...

...and stampedes across the ring after him!]

GM:  AVAAAAAAALAAAAANNNNNCH- OHHHH!  DESTINY BRINGS THE FEET UP INTO THE
JAW!

[Tumaffi stumbles backwards from the counter while Destiny leaps up to
the middle rope, hurling himself into the air...

...and getting taken out of the sky by a missile-like headbutt driven
into his abdomen!]

GM:  DESTINY IS DOWN!  TUMAFFI IS STANDING TALL!

[The mighty Samoan looks down at Destiny who is writhing on the canvas,
clutching his ribcage...

...and then gives a thumbs down, driving the fans nuts before he falls
back into the nearest ropes.]

GM:  He missed the avalanche but he may not miss... 

[But Destiny doesn't give Tumaffi a chance to drop the splash,
immediately rolling for the ropes, clearing out to the floor where he
drops to a knee, trying to gasp for air.]

GM:  Destiny's out to the floor, trying to regroup and- 

[BIG ROAR OF THE CROWD!]

GM:  HERE COMES TUMAFFI AFTER HIM!

[The mighty Samoan, fire in his eyes, steps through the ropes...

...which gives Shane Destiny the chance for the ultimate in desperate
acts, springing off his knees to slam his arm up into the middle rope,
an action that DRIVES the ropes squarely into the groin of Tumaffi!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  LOW BLOW!  Ring the bell, ref!

[Marty Meekly looks puzzled as Tumaffi slumps down on the middle rope,
wincing with every movement.  He shakes his head, waving it off.]

BW:  Meekly didn't see it!  Tumaffi's huge body shielded Meekly from
being able to see it!  Shane Destiny rolled the dice right there and
Lady Luck is on his side tonight because the referee didn't see what
would have surely been a disqualification.

GM:  I can't believe this.  Tumaffi's in big trouble, just sprawled out
over the ropes... what is Destiny trying to-

[Destiny reaches up, dragging Tumaffi by the hair to the apron, and then
hooks the front of his tights with both hands, pulling as hard as he
can...

...and somehow manages to yank Tumaffi off the apron, sending him
sailing through the air and CRASHING chestfirst down on the
barely-padded concrete floor!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHH!  

BW:  What a move, Gordo!  Absolutely brilliant!  He uses Tumaffi's 405
pounds against him, yanking him off the apron by the tights, and sending
him down on the concrete!  Shane Destiny has pulled another one out of
the hat, daddy!

GM:  It's not over yet!

BW:  It will be in about ten seconds!

GM:  Destiny's gotta get back inside the ring... heading over here by
us...

[With the referee starting a count on both men, he somehow fails to
notice Shane Destiny making a stop at the timekeeper's table where he
grabs the metal briefcase he brought his $25,000 to the ring in,
dropping it in the corner as he rolls into the ring.]

GM:  What in the world?  Destiny just put that briefcase in the corner!

BW:  He's ready to take his money and go home.

GM:  The referee's got a count going on Tumaffi... and I don't know if
he can make it, Bucky!

BW:  He can't!  Ring the bell!  This one's over!

[The referee's count reaches five before Tumaffi manages to get his arms
under him, doing a pushup to get to his knees.  He is grimacing in pain
as he grabs his own chest, breathing heavily as the count reaches six.]

GM:  The count is already up to six and Tumaffi's not on his feet yet! 
This is trouble for the Samoan!

[Tumaffi pushes off the floor, climbing to his feet as the ref's count
reaches seven, stumbling forward towards the ropes as the count reaches
eight...]

GM:  The crowd is cheering him on!  He's almost there!

BW:  I can't believe it!

GM:  The count is to nine...

[At nine, Tumaffi reaches up, grabbing the top rope and pulling himself
up onto the apron...

...and Shane Destiny doesn't wait for it to go any further, moving in on
the aproned Tumaffi, throwing a right forearm to the side of the head.]


"TWENTY MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  TEN MINUTES REMAIN!"


GM:  He beats the count!  Only ten minutes to go and Shane Destiny is
throwing forearms!  Trying to chop the big man down again!  He's
battering Tumaffi with those blows to the temple!

[The referee steps in by Destiny, trying to get him to back off and
allow Tumaffi into the ring... a move that proves to be disastrous as
Tumaffi slams Destiny's arms away, grabbing the Las Vegas resident by
the head and CRUSHING him with a headbutt that sends Destiny falling
backwards...

...an arm accidentally flying up and catching Marty Meekly on the side
of the face, knocking him down to the mat!]

GM:  Meekly's down!  The ref got caught by Destiny's arm!

BW:  That was an accident!

GM:  I believe it was but it could be- where's Destiny going?

[Clutching his skull from the headbutt, Destiny staggers to the corner,
leaning over to pick up the metal briefcase.]

GM:  He's got the briefcase!

BW:  The match isn't over yet, Shane!

GM:  LOOK OUT!

[Rearing waaaaaaay back overhead, Destiny winds up and lets it fly,
SMASHING it down over the top of Tumaffi's skull!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!  HE DRILLED HIM!  HE NAILED HIM WITH THE CASE AND-

[THE CROWD ERUPTS!]

GM:  NO EFFECT!  NO EFFECT!  TUMAFFI IS SMILING AT HIM!

[Shane Destiny steps backwards, a now-badly-dented metal briefcase in
his hands.  He looks at Tumaffi with a dropped jaw, staring on in
disbelief.]

BW:  HOW?!  HOW?!

GM:  Tumaffi's coming for him!  Tumaffi steps through the ropes and-

[Destiny goes back to what got him to this point, lashing out with his
foot, sending the middle rope RIGHT into the groin of Tumaffi yet
again!]

GM:  OHHHH!  COME ON!

[Tumaffi is doubled up, leaning over between the top and middle ropes...

...and presenting Shane Destiny with a target that he just can't refuse,
winding up to the side like he's swinging a baseball bat.]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The full swing briefcase shot connects squarely with the face of
Tumaffi, the blow sending him toppling back through the ropes, falling
down to the barely-padded concrete floor below!]

GM:  Destiny hit him with the case again!  Tumaffi is down!  Tumaffi is
out on the floor and he's not moving at all!

[Seeing an opportunity, Destiny throws the dented suitcase to the floor
before grabbing the downed referee, shaking him with all his might,
dragging him to his feet, and shoving him in the direction of the ropes
where Tumaffi is sprawled out motionless on the floor.]

GM:  No... no... not like this.  Come on, referee!  Can't you see what's
going on here?  Can't you-

BW:  He's counting!

GM:  The referee is laying a count on Tumaffi... look at Destiny,
imploring the referee to count faster... what kind of a man is Shane
Destiny to want to win like this?

BW:  A win is a win... and this win comes with $50,000 attatched!

GM:  The count is up to three... to four.... to five...

[Tumaffi slowly moves a hand up to his face, falling over his motionless
frame.]

GM:  Tumaffi is moving but is it enough?  Will it be in time?

BW:  Seven... eight... this is it, Gordo!  This is it!

GM:  It certainly is.  Tumaffi is NOT getting up in time.  There's the
count of nine... and....


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  Ugh.  I can't believe it.

BW:  He did it!  He did it!  Shane Destiny has toppled the giant!

[Destiny drops to his knees, throwing his arms up in the air in
triumph.]

MC:  Your winner of the match by countout...

SHAAAAAANE DESSSSSTINYYYY!

[Destiny nods his head, pumping his fists repeatedly in the air.]

GM:  Look at this guy.  He's acting like he just won the National Title.

BW:  He beat Tumaffi, Gordo!  That's more than most can say.

GM:  But HOW did he beat him, Bucky?  He beat him by countout through
use of an illegal weapon!  How can he be happy with a win like that? 
How can someone with his resume, with his history, be happy with a win
like that?  It makes me sick.

[The referee takes the two containers of money from the timekeeper,
doing a severe double-take at the badly-dented briefcase, and then hands
them to Destiny who holds one in each hand, thrusting them high into the
air as the crowd jeers his every movement.]

GM:  Shane Destiny has won this match and the $50,000 but fans, I can't
imagine anyone being satisfied with the outcome of this match.  We've
got to take a break.  Don't you dare go away!

[The camera holds on a shot of Destiny still celebrating his victory
before fading to black...

...and then back up.  It's a shot of a few kids standing outside of a
classroom.  A fourth kid walks up to them, carrying his backpack over
his shoulder.]

4th Kid:  Hey guys... wait til you see what I got from AWAShop.com!

[He whips open the backpack and produces...

...a JUAN VASQUEZ BOBBLEHEAD!]

"Whoa!"

"Wow!"

"That rocks!"

"I want one... now!"

[The 4th kid looks pleased with himself...

...until a fifth kid walks up.]

5th Kid:  Juan Vasquez, huh?  That's not bad... but check this out!

[The 5th kid opens his backpack and reveals...

...a CITY JACK BOBBLEHEAD!]

"WHOA!"

"WOWER!"

"THAT ROCKS MORE!"

"I WANT ONE... NOW!"

[The fifth kid looks proud as the fourth kid looks sad at his Vasquez
bobblehead and we fade to black.

And then back up to live action where in front of an "AWA" backdrop,
reporter Mark Stegglet stands by with with one of AWA's most technical
gifted athletes, Pure X.]

MS:  Welcome back, fans!  Mark Stegglet here with Pure X just before he
heads out for his match with Ron Houston that is just moments away.
Despite what you've said about not letting words and actions get under
your skin, you seem to have a different view when it comes to your
opponent tonight in the Athens, Georgia Madman, Ron Houston.

PX: Mark, look, it's not about any animosity between me and Ron Houston.
For there to be some sort of bad blood between me and Houston, I would
actually have to give Houston a second thought other than the man I'm
facing tonight. I don't do that, ok? I don't dislike the guy, I don't
hate the guy, and I'm not scared of the guy. He's just another match on
the way to my shot at the title.

MS: It seemed to be otherwise after your last match when Ron Houston
came to the aid of Jordy Stebbins in -

PX: Let me stop you there, Mark - I wasn't going to hurt the kid. I was
merely trying to extend a hand to the guy after the match, but Ron
Houston - trying to play the whole mind tricks card or trying to play up
the crowd being acting a hero - barreled down to the ring. Now, of
course I'm going to I'm going to leave - Houston very well could've been
erratic or try something like injuring me so he could beat me tonight. 

MS: Ron Houston surely wouldn't try that. 

PX: I don't put that past him or anyone. I know the situation here -
I've known it the moment the match got announced. I'm not losing
tonight. Whether I submit Houston or pin him, he WILL lose this match
and I will be marching forward to my next challenge. So I don't have a
doubt in my mind that Houston could've had nefarious intentions towards
me after my match. I wasn't going to hurt the kid, so why else was he
there?

MS: But I have to ask what my colleagues have asked before - how can you
be so confident? Ron Houston is a former AWA National Champion and one
of the most intimidating people to face off against in the ring.

PX: Well, Mark, besides the fact that I'm the better WRESTLER?

[Pure X smiles and nods, reassuring us of that tidbit.]

PX: I know his style, his weak points, and his past performances here in
the AWA. Being a student of this sport, I know what it takes to defeat
him and what measures to take to make sure he can't defeat me. 

[X pauses, nodding to Mark Stegglet again.]

PX: After tonight, Ron Houston's name doesn't exist. Those two words -
Ron and Houston - won't be spoken out of my mouth. EVER.

MS: Pure X, one last question. You must've heard what Ben Waterson said
on our last AWA Saturday Night Wrestling - can you tell us anything
about his comments in regards to your name being mentioned with his
organization?

[Pure X narrows his eyes at Stegglet and shakes his head before
ultimately responding by just walking off the scene.]

MS: Well, um, a very confident Pure X before he meets his next challenge
in the name of Ron Houston tonight. Back to you Bucky and Gordon!

[Cut back to ringside where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde are standing.]

GM:  Thanks, Mark, and confident is definitely the word I'd use when it
comes to Pure X.  Perhaps overconfident might be a better word.  Since
the moment this showdown with Ron Houston was announced, Pure X has
shown no signs of being concerned about this match, Bucky.

BW:  And he just explained exactly why.  He's a better wrestler than
Houston and he's smarter than Houston.  He knows exactly what Houston's
going to do and exactly what he'll need to do to counter it.

GM:  But Ron Houston is a former National Champion, Bucky!  Surely Pure
X should be more concerned than he is letting on.

[Suddenly, the crowd starts to buzz as the form of "Agent To The Stars"
Ben Waterson emerges from the locker room area.  He's dressed in what
appears to be a damn expensive suit and is jabbering away on his
Bluetooth headset as he makes his way towards the ring.]

BW:  Heck, Gordo... I don't know.  Maybe this man is the reason X isn't
worried.

GM:  And what do you mean by that?

BW:  Maybe Pure X and Ben Waterson have struck a deal to bring X aboard.
 Maybe Waterson promised to get X this win if he takes out Houston in
the process.  There's no secret that Ron Houston wants a shot at the
National Title he believes he never should have lost.

[Waterson arrives at ringside, pulling up a chair to the announce table
and sitting down next to Gordon and Bucky.]

GM:  Well, it appears that Ben Waterson has decided to join us here at
ringside.  Mr. Waterson, what brings you out here?

ATTSBW:  Don't play stupid, Gordon Myers.  You know very well why I'm
here.  The word of the day is "expansion" and one of these two men just
may play a big role in that.  I'm out here to see if they're ready for
the big time.

GM:  I see.  So, there's a little bit added intrigue to this match
suddenly.  Fans, this should be quite an exciting matchup so let's go up
to Melissa to get things started!

[Cut to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty
minute time limit.  Introducing first...

[Stabbing Westward's "The Thing I Hate" plays through the PA as a
more-jeers-than-cheers pop sounds from the crowd.]

MC:  Hailing from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania... standing 6'2 and weighing
in at 227 pounds...

PURRRRRRE X!

[The 22-year old Pure X steps through the entrance, hands up over his
head in fists as he makes his way down to the ring. X is dressed in his
usual ring gear - black T-shirt, black boots, and baggy dark green pants
with the image of two swords crossed on both legs. Pure X looks at both
sides of the aisle at the fans nearby before going up the ring steps and
going through the ropes.]

GM:  Pure X is one of the finest in-ring technicians I've ever had the
pleasure of seeing compete, gentlemen.

ATTSBW:  Absolutely.  There's a reason I'm here with an eye on him.

BW:  Plus, he's the #9 contender for the National Title and there's
always a need to look ahead, right?

ATTSBW:  You got that right.

[X tugs at the ropes as the music switches over to Beck and the crowd
goes nuts.]

MC:  And his opponent... from Athens, Georgia... standing 6'7 and
weighing in at 286 pounds... 

He is the Athens, Georgia Madman...

RONNNNNNNNNNN HOUUUUUUUUUUUSTON!

[The imposing figure of Ron Houston steps through the curtains. Clad in
a full length tan trench coat with the Confederate Flag seamed into the
back, his black wrestling tights, elbow pads, knee pads, and boots
underneath.]

GM:  There he is, boys.  A former National Champion and one of the
original stars here in the AWA.  He's been here from Day One-

BW:  Except when Sudakov ripped his arm apart.

GM:  Except for that, yes.

[Houston raises his large fists in the air as he begins to march down
towards the ring. He reaches ringside and and leers at the audience
around him... slightly embracing their warmth. His eyes measure the
ring. He reaches up with one big paw, followed by the other, and begins
to climb onto the apron, entering over the top roughly."The Athens
Georgia Madman" raises his arms above his head and begins to pace around
the ring, slowly removing his jacket which he tosses nonchalantly to the
outside. He paces around the ring awaiting the bell.]

GM:  AWA senior official Michael Meekly is keeping an eye on both men...
and there's the bell!  Here we go!

[Ron Houston's fists are immediately at the ready, balled up and ready
to fly at the first sign of trouble.  Pure X, however, isn't the
rush-across-the-ring-at-the-bell type and merely stands in the corner,
keeping an eye on Houston.  He immediately protests the clinched fists
to Michael Meekly who demands Houston open 'em up.]

GM:  Ron Houston being forced to open those hands and Pure X is edging
out of the corner towards the middle of the ring... 

[X steps closer to the middle of the ring, hunched over with arms
outstretched, trying to find an opening as Ron Houston slowly approaches
as well.]

BW:  Pure X will want to keep this match on the mat.  He needs to stay
away from the strength, the power, and from the brawling.  

ATTSBW:  I'd like to see X throw some fists with 'im.  Just to see what
he's got in that department.  We've seen X in scientific matches but
never in a brawl before.  Everyone's got a brawler in them... it just
takes the right scenario... or person... to bring it out of 'em.

[Ron Houston steps closer, looking to tie up.  Pure X lunges forward for
a collar and elbow...

...but eats a right hand from Ron Houston instead!]

GM:  Pure X didn't even see that one coming, Bucky.

BW:  I'd agree with that.  He may have gotten just a little overanxious
there.  He went for the tieup and got rocked with a right hand.

[Pure X drops back to the ropes, rubbing his chin as he glares at Ron
Houston.  He slowly moves off the ropes, again complaining about the
clenched fist.  The referee is reprimanding Ron Houston when X lunges
in, quickly circling around into a rear waistlock...

...and promptly eating a back elbow from Houston that sends him falling
back into the ropes again.]

GM:  Hehehe... the fans are certainly enjoing this so far.

BW:  They won't be enjoying it when X has Houston on the mat and is
trying to break his ankle... or maybe his arm again.  Heck, I'd pay good
money to see Ron Houston put back on the shelf where I don't have to
watch him wrestle.  How 'bout you, Ben?

ATTSBW:  Pure X would certainly impress me if he was able to put Houston
on the sidelines.  And the National Champion, Stevie Scott, for that
matter.

GM:  So you admit you're out here hoping Pure X takes out one of Scott's
top contenders?

ATTSBW:  Both of these men are in the Top 10.  They're both top
contenders, Gordon, the last time I checked.

[Leaning against the ropes, Pure X looks around in annoyance at the
cheering crowd...

...and gets bullrushed by Ron Houston who knocks him back into the
corner.  Houston immediately leans over, grabbing the middle rope, and
starts laying in driving shoulders to the ribcage over and over.]

GM:  Houston's had enough of the slow start!  He's going to work on Pure
X who looks completely caught offguard by this assault!

[With X suitably weakened, Houston steps back, dragging X out of the
corner and hooking a front facelock...

...just before snapping Pure X over in a suplex!]

GM:  Ohh!  Big time snap suplex by Ron Houston!  Incredible snapping
speed with that one.  

[Houston pops back up to his feet, glaring down at the stunned Pure X,
and starts raining down stomps to the chest of the downed technician.]

GM:  Pure X is getting stomped over and over by Houston!  The Athens,
Georgia Madman is taking it to Pure X in the opening moments of this
one, perhaps looking for a quick finish.

ATTSBW:  Or perhaps trying to curry favor with someone watching.

GM:  Please.  You think Ron Houston is trying to impress you?

ATTSBW:  Impress the man who helped Stevie Scott become the National
Champion?  Impress the man who helped Gary Bright take the big step from
midcard to headline?  Why would he want to do that?

GM:  Houston's dragging X back to his feet... and THROWS him back into
the buckles.  

[With X in the corner, Houston steps back and tosses a big boot into the
gut of the Pittsburgh native.  A second boot quickly follows up and then
a clubbing forearm across the back of the neck that knocks X down to a
knee.]

GM:  Pure X gets back up... another big boot to the chest puts him back
in the corner...

[Desperate to get out of the buckles, Pure X retaliates with a boot of
his own to the gut following by a hard right forearm shot to the side of
the jaw.]

GM:  X is fighting back!

ATTSBW:  Exactly what I wanted to see.

[Stepping out of the corner, Pure X throws another big forearm shot,
smacking into the jaw of Houston who steps up and counters with a knee
to the gut that cuts off the attack.]

GM:  Houston shoves him back to the corner... crosscorner whip... 

[The Athens, Georgia Madman stampedes across the ring, arm outstretched
for a clothesline...

...and runs right into a back elbow to the chin!]

GM:  Ohh!  X was ready for that one and caught him coming in.

[Houston stumbles backwards, allowing X to charge out of the corner with
a running clothesline that the big man ducks under, spinning around and
connecting with a big boot that knocks Pure X back into the ropes...

...where a big running clothesline takes X over the ropes and down to
the floor below!]

GM:  OUT TO THE FLOOR GOES PURE X!

[With the crowd roaring, Houston steps out to the apron and drops down
to the floor.  He grabs the recovering X and promptly SLAMS his face
into the ring apron!]

GM:  And now it's Ron Houston who has taken this match directly to where
he wants it.  He wants a brawl, a fight - and if he can get it out on
the floor, he's even better off.

[Pure X rests, slumped over the apron as Ron Houston grabs him by the
back of the head again, pulling him up...

...and getting caught with a forearm shot to the jaw again!]

GM:  Pure X just keeps on fighting!  This kid is all guts!  A brawl
isn't the kind of match he wants but if he has to do it, he's gonna do
it.  

[Grabbing Houston by the head, Pure X delivers another hard forearm
smash to the side of the jaw...

...and then gets caught again with a knee to the gut that cuts off his
rally.  Houston, hearing the count at six, ducks under the ropes to
break the count, and then slides back out to the floor, turning towards
the stunned and doubled up Pure X.]

GM:  Houston grabs X by the arm... he's going for a whip...

[The East Coast Terror uncorks an Irish whip...

...but Pure X reverses it, sending Houston smashing shoulderfirst into
the steel ringpost!]

GM:  OHHH!  Shoulderfirst to the post!

BW:  And not just any shoulder, Gordo.  That's the arm and shoulder that
Marcus Broussard TORMENTED for months throughout 2008 and exactly the
arm and shoulder that Kolya Sudakov DESTROYED en route to becoming the
National Champion and putting Houston on the shelf for months!  Pure X
knows all of this.  He's a student of the game and he knew exactly what
he wanted to go after as soon as this match was signed - the right
shoulder and arm of Ron Houston.

GM:  Houston rolls under the ropes, X right behind him...

[As soon as Pure X gets inside the ring, he grabs the right wrist of
Houston, scissoring his legs around the arm, and falling back with his
arms across the chest of Houston in a cross armbreaker!]

GM:  Armbar by X and-

[In X's rush to apply the hold, he fails to notice how close they are to
the ropes, allowing Houston to scoot his body under the bottom rope,
forcing the referee to break the hold which allows Houston to roll right
outside the ring to the floor.]

GM:  Houston escapes!  Ron Houston got out of that armbar and just in
time.

BW:  You don't know the half of it.  That was a cross armbreaker - a
Mixed Martial Arts style hold that when fully locked in almost means a
certain tapout, Gordo.  Houston slipped out of the ring just before X
locked it in.

GM:  X slides out to the floor as well.  He knows this isn't where he
wants the match to take place but right now, he also knows there's blood
in the water.  Speaking of which, I'd like to take a quick second to
send a quick "get well" to the San Jose Shark, Marcus Broussard, who is
home in California watching this on television.  My best to you, Marcus,
and I hope we'll see you back in action soon.

[Out on the floor, Pure X grabs the arm of Houston, fully extending it
and lashing out with a kick squarely in the bicep of the Athens, Georgia
Madman.]

GM:  Ohh!  Kick right on target.

[Houston staggers away, trying to regroup, and rolls back into the ring,
followed closely behind by Pure X.]

GM:  Both men back inside the ring... Houston trying to recover while
Pure X stalks towards him like a predator surrounding a wounded animal.

ATTSBW:  The Predator.  I like the sound of that.  Pure X might find a
new marketing machine behind him soon enough, Gordon.

GM:  I'm sure you enjoy what you're seeing here and-

[As X moves in on the backed-up Houston, the East Coast Terror lunges
forward, hooking his arms around the body of Pure X and hoisting him
into the air, falling back to smash the upper body of Pure X down on the
top rope!]

GM:  Oh!  Nice counter by Houston!

BW:  Houston was in trouble and he went to a desperate page of the
playbook to get Pure X off his feet and over that rope.  It would have
been even more effective if he could have dropped X throatfirst but at
this stage, he'll take what he can get.

GM:  Houston's slow to get up to his feet as well, shaking that right
arm, trying to make sure he's got all the feeling in it. 

BW:  What's great about this is that even if the arm is perfectly fine,
Pure X is inside Houston's head now.  That arm has been injured before
and when it's injured once, you'll spend your entire career wondering if
it's hurt again.

GM:  The former champ's on his feet, yanking Pure X up... right into a
side waistlock...

[The Athens, Georgia Madman hoists X high into the air...

...and DUMPS him down on the back of his head and neck with a
belly-to-back suplex!]

GM:  Big time suplex by the East Coast Terror... and he rolls over into
a cover.  

[The referee drops down to count as Houston hooks a leg.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Shoulder up at two.  Pure X gets the shoulder up at two
to break the count.  

[Houston quickly scrambles to his feet, still shaking out his arm...

...and DRILLS X in the ribcage with a hard punt-style kick!]

GM:  Good grief!

[With the crowd cheering him on, Houston drags Pure X off the mat by the
back of the tights...

...and hurls him UNDER the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  Oh!  Pure X crashes down on the barely-padded floor in a heap and
Ron Houston is looking to continue his assault, moving past the referee
to head out to the floor.

ATTSBW:  And that's the kind of killer instinct we're looking for.  Go
get 'im, Ron!

GM:  Can you make up your mind who you're rooting for?

ATTSBW:  I'm rooting for whoever will be the best option for my
investment, Gordon Myers.  If it's the sweet science of Pure X, great. 
If it's the roughneck brawling of Houston, fantastic.  Whoever makes the
most sense to stand side by side with Stevie Scott, the Gold Bomber, and
myself.

GM:  Ron Houston pulls Pure X off the floor... look out!

[The crowd roars as Houston hoists Pure X up in a press slam, stepping
over towards the timekeeper's table...

...and steps out from under X, sending him crashing down facefirst on
the table!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Houston puts him down hard with that one!  Houston showing
off that bareknuckle brawling style that took him all the way to the
National Title in 2008.  Big kick to the ribs out on the floor now.  And
this is not where Pure X wants to be with Ron Houston.

[The big man pulls X off the floor, shoving him under the ropes into the
ring, and then lunging on top of him for a lateral press.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Out at two!  Ron Houston obviously wants to get this
match done as quickly as he can.  He realizes that he's at a definite
disadvantage in the stamina department with Pure X.  The Athens, Georgia
Madman drags him off the mat... Irish whip...

[X hits the ropes, rebounding back, and ducking under a clothesline
attempt by Houston.]

GM:  X ducks the clothesline... off the far ropes...

[Pure X comes off the ropes again...

...and gets hurled through the air, PLANTED on the canvas with a
spinning powerslam!]

GM:  POWERSLAM!  HE NAILED IT!  

[Houston drops back into a cover, reaching back to hook the leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- OHHHH!  He got the shoulder up!  But it was
close, Bucky - real close!

BW:  Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, daddy!  Pure X
is just biding his time, right, Ben?

ATTSBW:  I'm not sure, Bucky.  It's starting to look like Houston might
have his number.

[A weary Pure X rolls across the ring, grabbing the ropes to try and
pull himself off the mat while Ron Houston does the same thing on the
other side of the ring.]

GM:  Both men back to their feet... here comes Houston!

[The Athens, Georgia Madman stampedes across the ring towards his
opponent...

...who drops down to the mat, pulling down the top rope as he does so,
causing Houston to sail over the ropes, crashing down on the
barely-added concrete floor below!]

GM:  OHHHH!  A BIG FALL TO THE FLOOR FOR HOUSTON!

[And a wail of agony from the barely-padded concrete forces the
cameraman to turn the focus to Ron Houston, now rolling back and forth
on the floor clutching his right shoulder.  Inside the ring, Pure X sits
up, a slight grin on his face before he drops to his back, rolling under
the ropes to the floor.]

GM:  Houston hurt that shoulder on the fall to the floor and Pure X is
going after him!

BW:  There's a big ol' bullseye on that shoulder right now, Gordo.

GM:  I think you're right.

[Reaching down, X drags Houston off the mat by the hair and tights...

...and promptly HURLS him shoulderfirst into the steel ringpost!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  Come on!  Referee, get in there and stop him!

[Referee Michael Meekly does exactly that, sliding out to the floor and
getting right up in Pure X's face, pointing and shouting at him.  The
technician backs away, hands raised up in a plea of innocence.]

GM:  Ron Houston's in horrific pain after being sent into the ringpost
right there, Bucky.  That shoulder has taken a bit of a pounding already
here tonight.

BW:  If Ron Houston thought Marcus Broussard tortured his arm last year,
he's never met Pure X.  This guy is a Rembrandt of the ring - he's an
artist in there and a master of punishment.

GM:  The referee steps aside, Houston pulls himself up using the ropes.

[X rolls Houston back into the ring before rolling back in on his own. 
He quickly gets to his feet though, grabbing Houston by the wrist and
pinning his arm to the canvas...

...and then drops a knee down on the arm.]

GM:  Oh!  Right down on the arm.

[Kneeling on the bicep, X grabs the wrist of Houston and starts pulling
up on it, bending against the knee.]

GM:  Look at the pressure on the arm there!  Ron Houston might not have
any choice but to give up and end this match.

BW:  If he wants to ever wrestle again, you could be right. 

ATTSBW:  I like what I'm seeing, boys.  This Pure X kid might be the
real deal.  Only 22 years old?  He could be on top of this sport for a
long, long time.

GM:  You know, Pure X doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who would run
interference for your boy Stevie.  He doesn't seem like the guy who
wants to make sure no one gets to the National Title unless he's the one
wearing it.

ATTSBW:  We'll see, Gordon.  We'll see.


"TEN MINUTES HAVE GONE BY!  TEN MINUTES REMAIN!"


GM:  Ten minutes to go in this one... and Pure X immediately breaks the
hold.  He must have thought he wasn't going to get a submission yet out
of Houston so he decided to- ohh!

BW:  Hehehe... he just stomped Houston's ankle!

GM:  What for?  What's the meaning of that?

BW:  Don't be an idiot, Gordo.  The arm and shoulder were an obvious
target but the ankle?  Pure X's signature hold is that anklelock called
The X.  Why wouldn't he keep his options open?

[Another hard stomp to the ankle forces Houston to pull his legs up
closer to his body, almost assuming a fetal position as Pure X circles
his prey, looking down at him.  He reaches down, yanking Houston off the
mat, and pulling him into a double underhook.]

GM:  What's he going to try here?

[With Houston unable to fight out with his arm and having difficulty
keeping weight on both legs, Pure X hoists Houston off the mat, snapping
him over in a butterfly suplex...

...and then rolls through it, keeping the butterfly lock applied!]

GM:  Nicely executed double underhook suplex... and look at this!

BW:  Pressure on the arms, pressure on the neck... beautiful!

[And with the arms trapped, Pure X takes a moment to throw knees to the
exposed torso and face of the former National Champion.]

GM:  Knees!  Knees!  X is lighting up the Athens, Georgia Madman!

[Michael Meekly drops down to the mat, asking Ron Houston if he wants to
submit to the repeated knees to the face.]

GM:  Houston's gotta get out of this!  The referee is right down there
on the mat, checking to see if the East Coast Terror wants to submit. 
The big man needs to- whoa!

[The crowd gasps as Ron Houston uses just his legs to rise to his feet
and straightens up, backdropping Pure X overhead and down to the mat!]

GM:  Oh my!  What a counter by Ron Houston!

[Dazed and hurting, Houston falls back against the ropes, waving for
Pure X to get to his feet.  The youngster quickly recovers, scampering
to a vertical base...

...and gets CREAMED with a big boot to the chest that knocks X back into
the buckles.]

GM:  Ron Houston with the big boot!  X is cornered.

[Moving in on the corner, Houston lets loose a roar as he balls up both
fists, throwing rights and lefts to the body of the smaller grappler.  A
hooking left hand catches X on the side of the jaw and a hard uppercut
knocks him down to a knee.  Houston immediately grabs his right shoulder
after throwing the punch.]

BW:  Look at that, Gordo!  The shoulder hurt him on a punch!  How on
Earth does he think he'll be able to pick somebody up?

GM:  Maybe he won't but he's got plenty of other weapons.

[Using his left hand, Houston grabs the right wrist of Pure X and fires
him from corner to corner with a one-handed whip...

...and charges across the ring, SMASHING Pure X in the corner with an
avalanche!]

GM:  OHHHH!  He got all of that!

[With Pure X dazed, Ron Houston cranks back his right arm, ready to let
it fly in the Heart Punch known as the Pulse Killer...

...but Pure X grabs the top rope, pushing up with both legs to kick the
right arm as it flies in his direction!]

GM:  Ohh!  Brilliant counter by Pure X!

[Houston falls backwards, moving away from Pure X as he clutches the
injured right arm.  The Pittsburgh native rushes forward to stay on the
attack...

...but gets scooped right up in a fireman's carry!]

GM:  Whoa!  HERE IT COMES!  HE'S GOT HIM UP!

[The crowd roars in anticipation of the Fade To Black...

...but Pure X uses the arm injury to wriggle out of the move, reaching
back to hook both arms of Houston, dragging him down to the canvas in a
backslide!]

GM:  BACKSLIDE!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- OHHHH!

BW:  He almost had him, Gordo!  These people almost had their hearts
broken again!  First Taylor, then Tumaffi... if Houston loses too, we
might drown in tears.

GM:  I don't know about that but Pure X almost had him with the
backslide.  Houston's going to need to be very careful after-

[X scampers to his feet, grabbing a front facelock on a kneeling
Houston...

...and DRIVES him down in a single-armed DDT!]

GM:  OHHHH!

ATTSBW:  That's an easy way to dislocate a shoulder.  Pop the thing
right out!

GM:  Houston's down - Pure X grabs the wrist!

[X quickly slips behind Houston, applying a kneeling hammerlock on
Houston who is down on his chest still.  He cranks up on the arm,
screaming "QUIT!" at the East Coast Terror.]

GM:  Pure X is telling Houston to quit - you gotta make him quit, kid!

ATTSBW:  He might be about to do just that.  Look at Houston's face!  He
looks just like he did when Sudakov ripped his arm to shreds.  The
so-called East Coast Terror may be about to give it up and send Pure X
one more step up the Top 10 rankings.

GM:  And if he does, I'd say your "investment" Stevie Scott would get
just a little bit more nervous about his chances to retain that title -
that is if he can get past "The Natural" later tonight.

ATTSBW:  It's taken care of.

GM:  What is THAT supposed to mean?

[Getting no submission from Houston, X breaks the hammerlock, keeping a
hand on Houston's wrist as he gets back to his feet.  He quickly pins
the wrist down to the canvas, leaping into the air and dropping a knee
on the bicep.]

GM:  Houston, screaming in pain from that kneedrop, has gotta think
about giving up here.  He already spent months on the sidelines after
the injured he suffered at the hands of Kolya Sudakov.  He can't afford
another injury to the same arm - that could be career-threatening!

[Pure X kneels on the arm, screaming "GIVE UP!" to the former National
Champion who screams "NO!" through gritted teeth in reply.  Shaking his
head, X gets off the mat, reaching down to interlock his fingers with
Houston's right hand...]

GM:  The former champ refuses to quit and- ohh!  He got kicked right in
the arm!  And again!  And again!

[The trio of kicks has Houston barely able to move from the pain as he
slumps down to a knee.  An angry Pure X piefaces him, shoving him down
to the canvas.]

GM:  We may be on the verge of seeing Ron Houston sidelined for several
more months.  He refuses to quit on this match but Pure X refuses to do
anything but punish that arm looking for the submission.

BW:  And there's a distinct difference there.  You get the sense that
Pure X isn't really looking to injure Ron Houston... he just wants to
make him submit.  If he breaks the arm in the process, so be it but
that's not his intention.

GM:  X standing over him now... what's this about?

[With Houston flat on his back, Pure X stands over him, leaning over and
laying the badmouth on him.]

GM:  Oh, come on... is this necessary?

BW:  Hey, he's just letting Houston know the situation.  Telling him
who's the man around these parts now.  Letting him know that throwing
haymakers from the hills isn't gonna work with a true ring technician in
there with him.

GM:  Ron Houston has fought some of the best technicial wrestl- HEY!

[The crowd roars as Houston reaches up with his left hand, popping Pure
X in the jaw with it and sending him spinning away.]

GM:  That oughta shut his mouth!  And now it's the Athens, Georgia
Madman who is back on his feet...

[Moving towards the reeling Pure X, Houston is shaking his right arm,
trying to get some feeling in it.  As X turns around, the East Coast
Terror reaches out with both arms, wrapping his hands around Pure X's
throat, and hoisting him into the air!]

GM:  He's got him up!

BW:  In a choke, Gordo!  That's blatantly illegal!  Count him, ref!

GM:  The ref's counting... three... four... fi- ohhh!  He throws Pure X
into the corner!

[The impact of the smash into the buckles causes X to wobble out...

...right into a right handed Heart Punch!]

GM:  PULSE KILLER!

ATTSBW:  There wasn't much behind that though.  The arm is hurting too
badly.  He got the heart punch in but he didn't get the kind of impact
he was looking for.


"FIFTEEN MINUTES.  FIFTEEN MINUTES.  FIFTEEN MINUTES GONE BY!"


[Pure X falls back to the corner from the Pulse Killer, his arms looped
over the top rope, barely able to stand.]

GM:  I don't know about that.  He looks in pretty bad shape to me.

BW:  We're down to five minutes to go in this time limit.  Whatever's
gonna happen, it needs to happen now.

[Pumping his left fist in the air, Houston backs to the opposite
corner...

...and barrels across the ring, looking to try and finish his opponent
off.]

GM:  BIG BOOOOOOO- OHHHHH!

[Showing Waterson to be correct, a fairly-fresh Pure X lunges out of the
way, causing Houston to throw the big boot RIGHT into the top
turnbuckle.  The East Coast Terror recoils from the miss, falling down
to a knee and reaching down to grab the ankle that just got tweaked on
the buckles.]

GM:  Uh oh!

BW:  He was playing possum!  Pure X lured him in and Houston went to the
well once too often with that big boot!  

GM:  Houston is down... he's grabbing the ankle and-

[Pure X reaches down, ripping Houston's legs out from under him to put
him on his chest...

...and grabs the injured ankle, twisting it in the hold known as The X.]

GM:  ANKLELOCK!  THE X IS ON!

[Houston immediately cries out in pain, clawing at the canvas, quickly
trying to assess how far away he is from the nearest set of ropes.  He
stretches his arms out as far as they'll go - a considerable distance -
and finds himself perfectly positioned by Pure X to be absolutely
nowhere near any of them.]

GM:  Houston can't get to the ropes!  Pure X has him locked in that hold
in the middle of the ring... he's nowhere near the ropes!

BW:  This is it!  There's no way out of this!

GM:  The East Coast Terror is desperately searching for an escape. 
There's gotta be a way out!  If he can't break this hold, this match is
over, Bucky!

[With the roaring crowd cheering him on, Houston uses his arms to pull
himself a little bit closer to the ropes, moving Pure X with him.  X
looks slightly alarmed, trying to increase the pressure on the ankle as
Houston edges just a bit closer again.]

GM:  He's fighting it!  He's trying to get to the ropes!  He's trying
to-

[Sensing the moment getting away from him, X breaks the anklelock
himself, lunging forward to hook both of Houston's arms behind him and
promptly sits back on the former champ's lower spine.  Houston
immediately cries out in pain.]

GM:  Look at that!  A double chickenwing... camel clutch?  That's all I
can think to call it, Bucky!

BW:  Whatever you want to call it, look at the pain on Houston's face -
we know it's effective!

GM:  Houston's arms, the same arms that were dragging him towards the
ropes are now trapped behind him.  A tremendous amount of pressure is
being put on that right arm and shoulder as well.  How much can he take?
 How long can he hold-


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  That's it!

[The crowd instantly deflates as Pure X releases the hold, climbing to
his feet with a quick pump of his fist as the only show of celebration. 
He waits as the referee speaks to Melissa Cannon through the ropes and
she makes it official.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... your winner of the match... by
submission...

PURE X!

[The crowd erupts in a mixed reaction for Pure X who has a satisfied
grin on his face as the referee raises his hand in triumph.]

GM:  Pure X just made Ron Houston submit!  I don't know about you guys
but to me... that's gotta be considered a bit of an upset!

BW:  Pure X WINNING the match is considered an upset when you look at
Ron Houston as a former National Champion.  But winning the match by
submission?  

ATTSBW:  Make no mistake.  Ron Houston did the right thing by giving up.
 That arm, that shoulder - they were in tremendous trouble and the
possibility of a serious reinjury to that arm was very real.  If he
didn't give up, he might be back in the hospital tonight.  Giving up was
 the right thing to do, I just don't think we expected to see it happen.

[A disappointed Ron Houston slowly pushes up to his feet, his left hand
on his right arm as he stares across the ring at Pure X, who seems to be
ready to continue the fight as needed.]

GM:  Both men back to their feet - a big ovation from this crowd for
both of these men.  They put on a tremendous effort inside the ring
tonight and- wait a second!  What's HE doing out here, Mr. Waterson?

ATTSBW:  Ahhh, time for the moment of truth.

[Waterson gets up from the announce table, joining "Gold Bomber" Gary
Bright who has walked down the aisle to ringside.  A few quick words are
exchanged before both men climb the ringsteps and go through the ropes.]

GM:  Gary Bright has joined Ben Waterson inside the ring.  I don't know
what's going on here but I don't like it.  I think Ron Houston was about
to shake Pure X's hand but these two decided they wanted the spotlight
on them.  Bucky, what's going on here?

BW:  No clue.  But Ben said it's time for the moment of truth.  Maybe
we're going to find out who the next member of his organization is right
now.  Maybe that's why they're so confident about Stevie vs Rogers later
tonight.

GM:  Waterson and Bright are in the middle of the ring, looking at both
competitors... look at Houston, he's ready to go right now.  He's got
those fists balled up and-

[The crowd ROARS in shock.]

GM:  Wait a second!  Ben Waterson just offered his hand to Ron Houston! 
Are you kidding me?  Is Waterson offering Ron Houston a spot in his
group?

BW:  Better question!  Is Houston accepting?

[The East Coast Terror looks on in shock, slowly stepping out of the
corner towards Ben Waterson.]

GM:  This is, indeed, the moment of truth, fans!  Is Ron Houston selling
out?  Has Houston joined up with Stevie Scott, Gary Bright, and Ben
Waterson?  

[Houston gets within reach of Waterson, eyeing his outstretched hand
warily...

...but before he gets a chance to do anything, Gary Bright lunges
forward and DRILLS him with a forearm smash that knocks Houston back to
the corner.  Bright quickly hooks a full nelson on the big man, hoisting
him into the air, and DRIVING him down in a thunderous full nelson
slam!]

GM:  OHHHH!  This was a set up!  It was damned set up, Bucky!

BW:  Haha!  I love it!

[The crowd jeers out of control as Houston becomes the recipient of a
barrage of stomps and kicks to the arm and shoulder by Waterson and
Bright.  Pure X looks on, hands on hips, at the attack going on in front
of him.]

GM:  Come on, X!  You've got to help him!  The man is helpless in there!

[Pure X looks around at the crowd, the thousands of fans encouraging him
to save Ron Houston from the assault...

...and simply waves it off, stepping through the ropes and dropping out
to the floor!]

GM:  Oh, come on!  What a spineless, gutless... he's got no honor,
Bucky!  None!

BW:  Sure he does.  He COULD have joined in!

GM:  Oh, that's funny.  Hilarious!

[The Gold Bomber pulls Houston off the mat by the hair, dragging him out
to the middle of the ring where he pulls the right arm behind the former
champ's body.]

GM:  Oh no.

BW:  This is exactly how they put Broussard on the shelf!

GM:  Somebody's gotta stop this!  Somebody needs to-  NO!

[The crowd roars in shock as Gary Bright powers the massive form of Ron
Houston high in the sky in the flying hammerlock.  Houston screams and
screams at the pressure being put on his arm as Waterson looks on with
glee.]

GM:  Waterson's loving this!  We need some help out here!

[After a seeming eternity of holding Houston high in the air, Bright
throws him down like a sack of garbage, leaving the injured East Coast
Terror on the canvas.  Waterson shakes the hand of his muscular charge
before the duo makes their exit from the ring.]

GM:  This was all a big setup.  Did Waterson even have any interest in
Pure X or was this all to lure Ron Houston into a trap?  This is
disgusting.

BW:  Whatever it was, you can now add Ron Houston to the rapidly-growing
list of top-shelf competitors that Stevie Scott, Gary Bright, and Ben
Waterson have put on the shelf!  They have quickly become the most
dangerous unit in professional wrestling, Gordo!

GM:  Absolutely devastating.  Devastation is following these guys
wherever they go.  Absolutely terrible.  Fans, we need to take a quick
break.  We'll be right back.

[The camera holds on the ring where a pair of medical team members are
checking on the injured Ron Houston as we fade to black...

After a moment, we fade back up on a very long shot of the exterior of a
pretty dingy looking building.]

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

"Of your friends and family seeing you on television?"

[And just a little closer, revealing a red, white, and blue sign that
reads "AWA Combat Corner."]

"Well, now you can make all your dreams come true by signing up today at
the AWA Combat Corner - the official training school for the American
Wrestling Alliance!"

[We cut to the interior of the building where we can see lots of
standard gym equipment surrounding a very basic wrestling ring.  There
are people lifting weights, running on treadmills, and of course,
working out in the ring.]

"With the very best trainers in the business, the AWA Combat Corner is
the most-equipped training facility to get you in shape and get you in
the ring in the shortest amount of time!"

[Cut into the ring where Todd Michaelson is barking out instructions.]

"With former World Champion Todd Michaelson leading the classes, you can
guarantee that you will be prepared for in-ring action upon graduation
and with the AWA expanding by the day, you will have a place to work on
Day One!"

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

"So, stop by the Combat Corner today... call our offices... visit our
website... and let them know that you want to be the next AWA Superstar!
 You want to be the future of the business!

You want to wrestle!"

[Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner.  We
freeze there for a moment...

...and then fade back to live action.  Nothing fancy this time... no
fancy sets, elaborate jokes, or self-serving one-sided matches.  Just
Adrian Freeman and Callisto Dufrense, sitting in front of an AWA
backdrop, looking serious as death.]

AF: Do you see now, KentuckyÕs Pride?  Why you wonÕt win and why you
canÕt win this match?  You came out to that singles match a few weeks
ago like it was a friendly square dance, while we came out looking to
hurt you.  

ThatÕs strategy.

WeÕre competing on a whole other level, looking at not just individual
battles but the whole war.  And all of our hard work will be vindicated
when we wrap those titles around or waists and the AWA finally has a
pair of tag team champions they can be proud of.

[Dufresne nods his head confidently before speaking.]

CD: City Jack... Tin Can Rust... this match is going to be the end of a
lot of things.  Your title reign, for starters.  Maybe your careers. 
But more importantly, this is going to end the mocking specter of City
Jack thatÕs followed me around everywhere I go.  And in the AWA, you two
have been in my way -- our way Ð every step we take.  From the very
first AWA supershow, to War Games, to the tag title tournament... itÕs
always been you standing across from us.

AF: And the thing is, youÕve usually won.  ItÕs embarassing but IÕll
admit it.  That also ends at No Escape.  And my journey, from a man who
had to fight to even get on the occasional card to champion, will come
to an end as well.  Not to mention the emergence of the best tag team in
wrestling today, Adrian Freeman and Callisto Dufrense.

CD: In Greensboro, then, there will be a lot of endings. 

But there will also be one beginning!

[Dufresne glares at the camera.]

CD:  What begins there, our era, is going to last longer than you could
ever imagine.

[Dufrense forgoes the usual cocky grin, looking just as intense as his
partner for once.  Fade back to the ring where Melissa Cannon is
standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty
minute time limit.  Introducing first..

[The opening strands of Deep Purple's "Knocking At Your Back Door" kick
in, the chords seemingly building anticipation for what is to come. And
once the chords reach their crescendo and the drums kick in, that's when
Dave Cooper emerges from the entranceway.]

MC:  Standing 6'5 and weighing in at 265 pounds... from Albuquerque, New
Mexico... he is accompanied to the ring by his manager Sarah Sharpe...

DAAAAAAVE COOOOOOPER!

[Big cheer!  Dave Cooper wears black wrestling trunks, matching kneepads
and white wrestling boots, and also wears a black T-shirt that says
"Rough N Ready" in white lettering.  Standing beside him is his manager,
Sarah Sharpe, dressed in black pants and matching jacket and a white
T-shirt.

The duo makes their way to the ring, Sarah walking in front.  Dave looks
very serious as he walks the aisle, ignoring the cheering fans lining
the aisleway. They reach the ringside area, where Dave ascends the ring
steps and ducks between the ropes as Sarah takes her place at ringside.]

GM:  Dave Cooper is all business in there tonight, Bucky.

BW:  Not really.  It's just the concussion has his face frozen.

GM:  A head injury is nothing to joke about, Bucky.

BW:  Maybe not but seeing Dave Cooper get his tail beat by Cletus Lee
Bishop?  That's plenty to joke about.

GM:  In a lot of ways, this match reminds me of the Shane
Destiny/Tumaffi match we saw earlier tonight.  We've got a technicial
wrestler trying to topple the larger man.  Destiny did it, Cooper could
as well.

BW:  Now you're the one joking.

[Cooper tugs at the ropes as he waits for his opponent.]

MC:  And his opponent...

["Trashville" by Hank Williams III plays over the PA system to a big
jeer from the crowd.]

MC:  Standing 6'9 and weighing in at 328 pounds... from Kingsland,
Arkansas... he is accompanied to the ring by Cousin Bo... 

CLETUS LEEEEEEEE BISHOP!

[The crowd jeers more as Cousin Bo emerges with a big smile on his face,
gesturing towards the back. Cletus Lee Bishop slowly stalks his way from
behind the curtain, staring maniacally around at the audience. Cletus
Lee starts to make his way towards a fan but as Bo assuringly pats him
on the back, he seems to settle down a bit.  Bo gives him a few words,
trying to keep him focused on the ring as they slowly make their way
down. Cletus Lee climbs the ring steps as Cousin Bo takes his place at
ringside, and strides over the top rope...

...and charges Dave Cooper!]

GM:  Here we go!  Here we go!

[Referee Mickey Meekly calls for the bell to start the match, diving out
of the way as Cletus Lee would have barreled right over him on his way
to get to Dave Cooper...

...who sidesteps the charge, catching Bishop in the midsection with a
right hand as he passes.  Cooper quickly grabs Bishop by the shoulder,
spinning him around in the corner where he continues his attack,
throwing hooking blows to the body.]

GM:  Dave Cooper is going downstairs early - trying to take some of the
wind out of the big man's sails.  Bucky, why do you think this match
won't go down like Destiny/Tumaffi did?

BW:  For one thing, this is Dave Cooper - NOT Shane Destiny.  For
another, Tumaffi has a tendency to put himself in positions where
someone could use his weight against him.  So far, we haven't seen that
from Cletus Lee.  He stands tall and he beats people up.  

GM:  We'll see about that because right now, Dave Cooper is doing a
number on him in the corner.  Of course, Cooper is a submission
specialist and I don't know how likely it is that he can get Bishop down
for one of those.

BW:  We have yet to see Cletus Lee Bishop knocked off his feet, Gordo.

[Grabbing Bishop by the wrist, Cooper attempts an Irish whip but Bishop
easily reverses it, sending Cooper crashing into the corner.]

GM:  Cooper hits the corner hard - here comes Cletus!

[The 6'9 hillbilly psychopath barrels across the ring towards the corner
for a rushing shoulderblock...

...that Cooper lunges to the side to avoid, causing the Arkansas native
to smash into the buckles!]

GM:  HARD TO THE CORNER!!

[With Cletus Lee chestfirst in the corner, Cooper throws rights and
lefts to the ribcage from behind the big man...

...who suddenly lashes out with a back elbowsmash, catching Cooper on
the side of the head, sending him sprialing away.]

GM:  Cletus Lee caught him there... OHHH!

[A running lariat knocks Cooper end over end and dumps him down on the
mat in a heap!]

GM:  What a clothesline by Cletus Lee!

[The camera cuts to the floor where Cousin Bo is all grins after that
one, clapping his hands and shouting encouragement to Cletus Lee who is
glaring out at the cheering crowd.  Sarah Sharpe slaps her hands on the
mat on the other side of the ring, shouting "GET UP, DAVE!" to her
husband.]

GM:  Cletus Lee nearly took his head off with that one, reaching down
now to drag him up off the mat... ohh!  Big chop across the chest,
Cooper falls back to the buckles...

[With Dave Cooper stunned, Cletus Lee lifts his leg up, pressing his
foot against the technician's windpipe.]

GM:  That's a choke!  Count him, ref!

BW:  Meekly should watch himself.  Cletus Lee's a wild animal in there
and just might tear the kid's throat out if he gets too mouthy with him.

GM:  Three... four... fi- 

[At Cousin Bo's screams, Cletus Lee breaks the chokehold, looking around
a bit confused as Cousin Bo waves his arms, trying to discourage the
rulebreaking.]

GM:  Cletus Lee almost got DQd right there, Bucky.

BW:  Were you listening?  Wild animal?  Ring any bells?

GM:  Hard back elbow in the buckles!  Cletus Lee just laying on him...
big whip by the large Bishop...

[Bishop stampedes across the ring again but at the last moment, Cooper
uses the top rope to throw both feet up in the air, causing Bishop to
run right into his feet.]

GM:  Ohh!  Cooper caught him coming in!

[Cooper quickly hops up on the midbuckle, pumping a fist to the cheers
of the crowd before leaping off with a double axehandle...

...but getting snatched out of the sky by Cletus Lee who holds Cooper up
for a moment and then THROWS him down to the canvas in a thunderous
standing spinebuster slam!]

GM:  GOOOOOOD GRIEF!

BW:  That's it!  Ring the bell!

GM:  Cletus Lee is standing over him... he looks puzzled what to do
next.  Cousin Bo is shouting at him from out on the floor, trying to get
him to cover Cooper.

[A confused Cletus Lee instead drags Cooper off the mat and immediately
drills the dazed veteran with a straight right hand, sending him falling
chestfirst into the turnbuckles.  Grabbing Cooper by the back of the
head, Bishop slams his skull into the buckles to the jeers of the fans.]

GM:  He sends Dave Cooper into the top turnbuckle headfirst!

BW:  Cletus Lee isn't exactly fancy in there but he's got the kind of
non-stop roughneck style that could put the Bishop Boys in a good
position to be the National Tag Team Champions down the road.  

GM:  They've got two points but they need a third to get the shot at the
gold.  Rough N Ready seems to be standing in their way of getting that
shot, Bucky.

BW:  But the Championship Committee has refused to schedule another
match between those two teams.  The Bishops may have to beat someone
else to win their shot.

[Dragging Cooper from the buckles, Bishop scoops him up off the mat...

...and presses him straight overhead in a gorilla press, holding him
high for a moment, and then stepping out from under him, causing Cooper
to fall straight down facefirst into the top turnbuckle!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[The impact of Cooper's head hitting the buckles is like a whiplash
effect, the head and neck snapping back in a disgusting motion. 
Cooper's hands immediately shoot up to his head.]

BW:  Look at that, Gordo!  That's the concussion coming back to haunt
Dave Cooper.  The old man thought he could wrestle hurt and now Cletus
Lee just might do even more damage.  You know, you can end a career by
wrestling with a concussion.  Cooper's dumber than I thought.

GM:  Or perhaps he's braver than you thought, Bucky!  Dave Cooper is
showing tremendous heart, tremendous fighting spirit by even TAKING this
match here tonight.

[Cooper rolls under the ropes, dropping down to a knee on the floor as
Sarah Sharpe races to his side, checking on the injured veteran.  At
Cousin Bo's loud urging, Cletus Lee steps over the ropes onto the apron,
looking down at Cooper...

...and drops off with a clubbing forearm to the back of the neck,
knocking Cooper down to his face on the floor.]

GM:  Cletus Lee's going out after him.  No rest for Dave Cooper and that
injury may have put him in a very dangerous situation right now.  Cletus
Lee will not show him any mercy, Bucky.

BW:  Cletus Lee may not rest until Cooper's retirement party.

GM:  He's dragging Cooper back to his feet...

[Shoving Cooper back against the ringpost, Cletus Lee rears back...]

GM:  HEADBUTT!


"CLAAAAANG!"


GM:  THE POST!  THE POST!  HE HIT THE POST!

[The crowd roars as Cletus Lee stumbles backwards after headbutting the
steel ringpost.  Dave Cooper hangs onto the ring apron for a moment,
trying to clear the cobwebs...

...and then rushes forward with a forearm smash that causes Cletus Lee
to fall back another step or two.  Cooper leans down, slapping the
barely-padded floor before spinning a full 360 and DRILLING the big man
with a rolling elbow that causes Cletus Lee to fall backwards, landing
heavily against the timekeeper's table!]

GM:  OH MY!  What a shot by Dave Cooper!

BW:  He caught him with that one, Gordo.

GM:  If it hadn't been for the timekeeper's table, we might have seen
our first flooring of Cletus Lee Bishop!  The table kept him on his feet
and- Cooper dives in at the count of seven!

[A confused and dazed Cletus Lee is completely oblivious as the count
reaches eight... then nine...]

BW:  He's gonna get counted out!  Bo, do something!

[A desperate Cousin Bo leaps up on the ring apron, shouting at Mickey
Meekly who spins around to confront the manager to the jeers of the
crowd.]

GM:  Oh, come on, referee!  You fell for it!

BW:  Yes he did.  Hook, line, and sinker.  Cletus Lee was about to get
counted out of the ring and Cousin Bo just managed to prevent that.

[Shaking his head, Cletus Lee staggers forward, pulling himself up on
the apron using the ropes...

...and getting greeted by Dave Cooper who catches him with an earclapper
by smashing his arms together against the sides of Cletus Lee's head!]

GM:  That'll ring his bell a little more!

[Cletus Lee clings to the top rope, looking completely out of it as
Cooper continues to go after his head, throwing clenched fists at the
skull.  Mickey Meekly peels away from Cousin Bo, stepping in to demand
that Cooper allow Cletus Lee back into the ring.]

GM:  Cletus Lee steps in through the ropes... and another big right hand
by Cooper knocks Cletus Lee into the corner!

[With a loud whoop, Cooper steps up on the midbuckle, clenched fist
raised.]

GM:  Punches in the corner!  All you fans at home, count along so Dave
can hear ya!

[The fans in the Greensboro Coliseum certainly count along with every
punch thrown down at the skull of Cletus Lee Bishop, reaching six before
the big man reaches up...

...and SHOVES Cooper off the middle rope, crashing down in a heap on the
mat!]

GM:  And again, Cletus Lee has the answer for Dave Cooper's offense!  A
pure power throw down off the middle ropes... and if I'm not mistake,
Cooper smacked right down on the back of his head!

BW:  He did, he did.  Right down on the external occipital protuberance.

GM:  The what?

BW:  The back of the head.

GM:  You puzzle me, Bucky Wilde.

[Cletus Lee leans in the corner for a bit, shaking his head back and
forth, trying to clear his head as he stumbles forward towards the
downed Cooper...

...and STOMPS down hard on the stomach, causing Cooper to sit up,
clutching his gut.]

GM:  Cletus Lee to the ropes and... OHHH!  Running kick RIGHT to the
head!

[Bishop slumps down to his knees in a sloppy lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- he slips out the backdoor in time!  If Cletus
Lee would have hooked the leg, this match is over. 

BW:  Yeah, but that's like expecting a rabid polar bear to hook the leg.

GM:  Cletus Lee is- what's he doing?

[The crowd buzzes as Cletus Lee locks his eyes on Mickey Meekly.]

GM:  Uh oh.

BW:  Get out of there, Meekly!

[Cousin Bo is screaming, "NO!  NO!" from outside the ring but Cletus Lee
is oblivious as he gets to his feet, eyes still locked on Mickey Meekly
who is starting to get nervous.]

GM:  Stay away from the ref, you animal!

[Cletus Lee stalks towards Mickey Meekly who is backpedaling quickly now
but runs into the corner.  The largest member of the Bishop family
continues marching towards him...

...which gives Dave Cooper just enough time to get to his feet, charging
to the corner where he leaps on the back of Cletus Lee, wrapping him up
in a sleeperhold and saving Mickey Meekly from who knows what.]

GM:  SLEEPER!

BW:  This could get interesting!

GM:  Dave Cooper wraps up Cletus Lee in a sleeperhold!  He's got it in
tight too!  The Psychobilly Deluxe is in trouble!

[Cletus Lee staggers backwards out of the buckles, arms flailing a bit
as he tries to free himself...

...and instead just drops backwards, SQUASHING Cooper between his body
and the canvas, and smashing Cooper's head into the canvas again!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  That might be it!

[But Bishop makes no sign of attempting a cover, pushing up off the mat
and looking down at Dave Cooper who is trying to crawl away from him.]

GM:  Dave Cooper's trying to get away... trying to find a place to
recover...

[Sneering, Cletus Lee steps on the ankle of Dave Cooper, pinning it to
the canvas to prevent his escape.  Reaching down, he hauls Cooper up to
his feet and DRILLS him with an overhand chop across the chest, a blow
that knocks Cooper down to a knee.]

GM:  What a chop by Cletus Lee - to the ropes!

[As he rebounds off the ropes, the 6'9 beast lifts his leg high and
brings it crashing down across the back of Cooper's skull, knocking him
down chestfirst to the mat.]

GM:  Good grief, Bucky.

BW:  The axe kick!  I don't think we've seen that from Cletus Lee
before!

[Outside the ring, a grinning Cousin Bo shouts, "NOW!  NOOOOOW!"  Cletus
Lee nods in acknowledgement, reaching down to grab Cooper's legs,
hooking him around the thighs from behind...]

BW:  This is it, Gordo!  This is what Cletus Lee tried to do on the last
Saturday Night Wrestling that Bo stopped him from using!

[Showing off his power, Cletus Lee deadlifts Cooper off the canvas by
the legs, swinging him overhead, and SLAMMING him down to the mat in a
thunderous wheelbarrow suplex that again smashes Cooper's head into the
mat.]

GM:  WHEELBARROW SUPLEX!  MY STARS!

[Cletus Lee rolls over off the mat, crawling into a sloppy lateral
press.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Three!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match...

CLETUS LEEEEE BISHOP!

[Cletus Lee Bishop pushes up off Cooper, looking down at his opponent's
prone form as a grinning Cousin Bo climbs the ringsteps, ducking under
the ropes.]

GM:  That wheelbarrow suplex was absolutely devastating, Bucky.

BW:  I knew it would be.  Cousin Bo's always trying to keep some of his
team's arsenal a secret... especially going against a ring technician
like Dave Cooper... so now the Wheelbarrow Suplex is unveiled in this
big match.  

[Mickey Meekly goes to raise Cletus Lee's hand but the big man pulls his
hand out of reach, stalking towards the referee again who quickly
scampers out of the ring to the floor.  Cousin Bo is all grins as he
raises Cletus Lee's hand in triumph.  Spotting the cameraman, Cousin Bo
leans close to speak into it.]

CB: Consider us even. Ross?  You've got no choice but to sign another
tag match to settle this. We will end this war. And we will end Rough N
Ready for good.

[And with that, the duo turns and makes their exit as Sarah Sharpe
slides into the ring, crawling over to the downed Dave Cooper who has
both arms wrapped around his head at this point.]

GM:  It was a valiant effort by Dave Cooper but the head injury proved
to be just too much to overcome.

BW:  Cletus Lee Bishop was too much to overcome, Gordo.  Give credit
where it's due.

GM:  Well, that'd be true as well.  The combination of the two was just
too much to deal with for Dave Cooper on this night but there'll be
another night for him and another night for Rough N Ready.  Fans, we
need to take a quick match but don't you dare go away because coming up
next... it's the cage!

[We fade away from the celebrating Cousin Bo and Cletus Lee to black.

After a moment, we fade back up on a shot of Jason Dane and Mark
Stegglet in an apparently moving car.]

JD:  Hey, AWA fans - so much of our lives are now spent on-the-go,
wouldn't you love to be able to keep track of your favorite AWA
superstars when you're away from home?

MS:  I know I would, Jason!  And I'd also love to have a place to put
out all those rumors we hear during the week that never make AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling.

JD:  You've got that right.  Wouldn't it be great if we could combine
both of those ideas into one?

[Suddenly, a giant graphic of an iPhone appears between them!]

JD & MS:  NOW WE CAN!

[A voiceover takes over - thank God.]

VO:  Starting today, you can download AWA Access - a great new
application for your iPhone where you can get all the AWA news, rumors,
and happenings before the rest of the world.  And don't forget to check
out the "exclusive" section for matches that never aired!  AWA Access -
coming to an iPhone near you!

[Fade back to black...

...and then back up on live action where Jason Dane stands with Raphael
Rhodes, who isn't dressed in his normal wrestling attire.  Instead, he
is dressed in a tank top sporting the Manchester City F.C. crest, as
well as a pair of jeans and construction boots.  His fists are taped
very heavily.  His hair is buzzed short and he is sporting a three-day
growth of facial hair.]

JD: Raphael Rhodes, tonight, you enter uncharted territory tonight when
you step into the cage against Juan Vasquez... what are your thoughts
leading up to tonight's contest?

RR: Same thing I think normally, mate.  When I get into a ring, or a
cage, or a back lot for a fight, I ain't thinkin' about anythin' else
but survival.  And that's where Juan Vasquez and I strongly differ,
Jason... I heard his comments on the preview show.  I heard him slander
my family name... heard him say he's goin' to teach me to be a wrestler,
as if there's somethin' he can teach me about it anyway.

[Rhodes scoffs.]

RR: Do you not understand what we're doin' tonight, mate?  Do you not
understand just what this sport is?  It ain't two men tradin' holds on
the mat and shakin' hands when they get stood up.  It ain't a honorable
battle where you cry at the end about your triumph like a bloody poof.
It's about surviving.  It's about hurtin' someone so bad that he can't
get up.  There ain't no honor in what we're doin' tonight, Juan, and
that's precisely what I've been tryin' to tell you this whole time.
That's exactly why I'm goin' to come out on top tonight.  You're
thinkin' you're in a wrestlin' match.  I know that tonight, inside a
cage...

[Rhodes pokes Dane in the chest with his index finger to emphasize his
point.]

RR: ... it's kill or be killed.  I ain't comin' to put you in a hold,
Juan.  I'm comin' to break your bloody face.  I ain't comin' so we can
sob and hug when it's over, I'm comin' to put you in hospital for a long
time.  You want to teach me how to be a wrestler?  How about this,
Juan... prove you're a man.  Prove you're not soft.  Prove that you're
everything you've said you used to be... because I ain't lookin' for a
handshake at the end, I'm lookin' to make sure you don't get up.

[Rhodes smiles at the camera.]

RR: But I've said this for months and you ain't ever figured it out yet.
 Why start now, Juan?

[Rhodes walks away.]

JD: Powerful words by the British youngster... back to Gordon and Bucky!

[We cut to the interior of the Greensboro Coliseum where the ring crew
is putting the finishing touches on constructing the massive 15 foot
high steel cage that will be used as the final battleground for the war
between Juan Vasquez and Raphael Rhodes.]

GM:  Thank you, Jason.  Powerful words indeed, Bucky, and this rivalry
has been raging for months - since last December to be exact - but
tonight, nearly nine months later, it comes to an end one way or
another.  Your thoughts?

BW:  I think this is going to be a battle the likes of which we may have
yet to see in the AWA.  These two have dedicated almost a year of their
careers - their lives - to destroying each other.  Now, the AWA has
given them the perfect place to do it and said, "Let's see what you can
do."  Is it going to be brutal?  You bet.  Is it going to be bloody? 
Quite likely.  It is going to be one of the toughest fights we've ever
seen?  Absolutely.

GM:  No matter which man you like, you know the stakes are high for this
one.  Not just for the final outcome of their rivalry but this match has
major Top 10 rankings implications.  These men are rated #3 and 4 in the
Top 10.  Whoever wins this one has a serious chance to become the #1
contender to the National Championship.

BW:  Especially after Stevie cripples Adam Rogers.

GM:  Would you stop?  Fans, the cage is up.  The lights are out.  It's
showtime.  Let's go up to Melissa!

[A slow dissolve to a wide shot of the darkened arena shows the 15 foot
high steel cage erected around the squared circle.  The flashbulbs pop
all over the Greensboro Coliseum, illuminating the dangerous structure
in the middle.  The camera slowly zooms in on the cage, revealing
Melissa Cannon and referee Marty Meekly within.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... the following contest is a STEEL CAGE
MATCH!

[HUGE CHEER!]

MC:  It is scheduled for one fall to a finish with a 60 minute time
limit.  There will be no countouts, no disqualifications, and ANYTHING
GOES!

[Another HUGE CHEER!]

MC:  Introducing first...

[The opening horns of "They Reminisce Over You" by Pete Rock & C.L.
Smooth begins to play over the PA system as the crowd erupts into
cheers.] 

MC:  He hails from Los Angeles, California...standing 6'2 and weighing
in at 238 pounds...

JUUUUUAAAAAAAANNNNNN

VAAASSSSSSQQQUUUUEEEZZZZ!!!!

[Big cheer! Juan Vasquez steps through the curtains with a determined
look on his face. He is dressed in his trademark white tracksuit w/
black trim over his usual wrestling gear. He pauses at the top of the
aisle and places his hands on his hips, surveying the huge crowd.
Cracking a smile, he removes his jacket and tosses it into the crowd. He
proceeds to do the same with his track pants. He then sprints his way
down the aisle, slapping a few of the outstretched hands from the crowd
as he runs. He then stops dead in his tracks once he reaches ringside
and stares up at the steel structure surrounding the ring. He makes the
sign of the cross and takes a deep breath before reaching up to grab the
steel mesh...

...when suddenly he's DRILLED from behind!]

GM:  What the-?!

BW:  Raphael Rhodes!

[It is indeed the wild-eyed Brit!  Rhodes is wearing the same attire we
saw moments ago - a Manchester City F.C. tank top, jeans, construction
boots, and a heavy amount of tape on his fists.]

GM:  Raphael Rhodes showed up out of nowhere and he's all over Vasquez!

[With Vasquez pushed back against the steel, Rhodes throws those heavily
taped fists into the ribcage of the fan favorite.]

GM:  Look at all the tape on those fists!  And those boots!  They aren't
seriously going to let him wrestle with those boots, are they?

BW:  Hey, it's a cage!  Anything goes in a cage!

GM:  I suppose but-

[Rhodes ignores the boos and catcalls of the fans as he snaps off a
European uppercut to the underside of Vasquez' chin, knocking him down
to a knee.]

GM:  Has this match even started?  Melissa Cannon, get out of there!

[Referee Marty Meekly exits the cage with the ring announcer close
behind.  She scatters as he confronts Raphael Rhodes, ordering him to
get the match inside the cage.  Ignoring Meekly, Rhodes grabs Vasquez
underneath the arm...

...and hiptosses him through the air and down on the barely-padded
concrete floor!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Down on the floor goes Vasquez!  This match - I assume it's
officially started now.

BW:  How could it be started if it's not inside the cage yet?  

GM:  Marty Meekly's trying to get some control.

BW:  And failing as usual.  But Gordo, ain't this just about perfect?

GM:  What do you mean?  

BW:  We're talking about a feud that often spilled into the crowd during
matches... spilled into the parking lot... how fitting is it that in
their final battle, they start it out outside of the ring, daddy?

[With Vasquez clutching his back, Rhodes drags him off the floor,
hooking him under the arm again to attempt another hiptoss on the
floor...

...but Vasquez reverses it, using a hiptoss of his own to send Rhodes
crashing backfirst into the ringside steel barricade!]

GM:  OHHHH!  HIPTOSS TO THE STEEL!

[Rhodes convulses on the floor, clutching his own back in pain as
Vasquez takes a breather, still wincing and holding his own lower back. 
After a bit, he moves towards Rhodes, dropping down to a knee.]

GM:  Vasquez kneels down... he's got Rhodes by the head...

[The crowd cheers as Vasquez throws clenched fist after clenched fist
into the skull of the Brit.  A few more land before Vasquez gets back to
his feet, pulling Rhodes up with him.  He nods his head to the cheering
fans, pointing to the side of the cage.]

GM:  He's gonna put Rhodes into the cage!

[Rushing towards the wall of the cage, Vasquez attempts to slam Rhodes'
face into the steel mesh...

...but Rhodes gets one of the big construction boots up, blocking the
attempt.  A sharp back elbow to the gut stuns Vasquez which allows
Rhodes to grab him by the hair.]

GM:  INTO THE CAGE!!  OHHH MY!

[The crowd jeers as Rhodes is the first to send Vasquez to the steel,
watching as the fan favorite slumps down to both knees against the ring
apron.  A sneering Raphael Rhodes pushes past a protesting Marty Meekly,
leaning over to grab the padding.]

GM:  What in the world is he-

BW:  Oh yeah!  Raphael Rhodes means SERIOUS business tonight, daddy!

GM:  He's pulling up the padding out on the floor!  Raphael Rhodes is
exposing that concrete floor!  What in the world is he doing, Bucky
Wilde?

BW:  Who needs the cage?  Rhodes is gonna finish this without even
getting inside the cage!

GM:  Vasquez is pulling himself up using the steel cage... 

[Rhodes shoves the padding back, folding it over on itself before
leaning down to slap the now-exposed concrete floor.  He smirks at the
protesting referee as he returns to Vasquez, pulling him away from the
cage and into a front facelock.]

GM:  Oh my stars!  Rhodes is going for a DDT on the concrete!

BW:  He wants to end more than the match, Gordo.  He wants to end Juan
Vasquez' career!

GM:  He's got Vasquez hooked... he's gonna-

[But before Rhodes can spike him into the cement floor, Vasquez pushes
off with both feet...

...and SLAMS Rhodes' back into the steel cage wall!]

GM:  OHHH!  Vasquez with a big counter there - saving his skin for the
moment at least.

BW:  It wasn't his skin that was in trouble.  It was his skull.

[Rhodes leans against the cage, holding onto it to stay on his feet as
an angry Vasquez straightens up.  Shaking his head, he grabs Rhodes by
the head and neck...

...and THROWS Rhodes backwards, the back of his head smashing into the
steel!]

GM:  OHH!  TO THE CAGE GOES RHODES!

[The crowd roars as Vasquez holds up a finger asking "One more time?"..

...and then whips Rhodes' head back into the mesh again!]

GM:  Again to the side of the cage!

BW:  Come on, referee!

GM:  Oh, NOW you're concerned about getting the match inside the cage?

BW:  It's a cage match, Gordo!  It's supposed to take place inside the
cage!

GM:  You're unbelievable!

[Vasquez grabs Rhodes by the head, dragging him away from the wall of
the cage and FIRING him through the cage door inside the massive steel
structure.  Vasquez quickly climbs the ringsteps, stepping into the cage
as well.  Marty Meekly is the final man in, turning to make sure the
cage door is secured and locked as Vasquez stalks across the ring
towards Rhodes who is scooting backwards, hands raised as he begs for
mercy.]

GM:  Look at this!  Look at this, Bucky!

BW:  What?

GM:  After all this jerk has done, he expects someone to give him mercy?

BW:  No, he expects someone to let up just long enough for him to-

[Suddenly, Rhodes reaches up at the approaching Vasquez, hooking him by
the trunks and falling backwards, yanking Vasquez into the corner
chestfirst!]

BW:  To do exactly that!  He suckered Vasquez in and made him pay for
it.

GM:  Rhodes back to his feet... perhaps playing a little bit of possum
there...

[On his feet, Rhodes pushes Vasquez' back to make sure he's pressed up
against the buckles.  He backs a step off, balling up his heavily taped
fists and throws a right hand to the kidneys.  He lunges forward with a
knee to the lower back before backing off and throwing a quick one-two
left-right combo to the ribcage.]

GM:  Rhodes has got Vasquez trapped in the corner, working him over with
shots to the body and the back.  He's trying to take some of the wind
out of his sails.

BW:  And doing a pretty good job of it from where I'm sitting.

GM:  Another hard right hand to the ribcage... ohh!  

[The crowd groans as Rhodes leans over, grabbing the middle rope and
throws a shoulder into the kidneys of the fan favorite.  He backs off...
and then throws another shoulder into the lower back.]

GM:  Rhodes is obviously targeting the back in the early moments of this
one... now pulling him into a front facelock...

[Rhodes holds the front facelock for a moment, throwing some knees up
into the upper body of his rival...

...and then slings Vasquez' arm over his neck, quickly snapping him over
in a suplex!]

GM:  Snap suplex!  Right out of his shoes, Bucky!

BW:  Rhodes prides himself on having one of the quickest suplexes in the
game.  He'll snap someone over quicker than a hiccup.

[Holding the front facelock, Rhodes rolls backwards, pulling Vasquez
into a seated position...

...and then CREAMS him with a big knee to the face!]

GM:  Ohh!  Knee to the face on target!

BW:  That's a page out of the Juan Vasquez' playbook, Gordo.  Rhodes
maybe trying to get under his skin a little bit with that one.  If
Vasquez is even conscious enough to know what happened that is.

[The rulebreaker kneels down next to Vasquez, pulling him up by the
hair, and drilling him with a taped right hand.  As Vasquez weakly
raises a right hand to defend himself, Rhodes grabs him by the wrist,
holding it tightly with one hand while he bends back the fingers using
his other hand.]

GM:  Ahh!  Come on, referee!

BW:  There's nothing Meekly can do, Gordo.  Anything goes in this one.

GM:  He's trying to break his fingers!  

[Vasquez quickly brings up a leg, kicking Rhodes in the back to break
his grip.  Rhodes delivers another hard taped fist to the jaw before
climbing back to his feet.  He drags Vasquez off the mat by the hair,
shoving him back into the corner again.]

GM:  Vasquez in the buckles... Rhodes squares up...

[The pub brawler throws a taped fist to the ribs again causing Vasquez
to double up.  Dropping to a knee, Rhodes pops him with an uppercut that
knocks Vasquez to a seated position in the corner.  With the crowd
jeering, Rhodes puts the heavy construction boot down on the throat of
Vasquez, pushing down with all his 203 pounds.]

GM:  That's a choke!  Vasquez fighting it, trying to struggle free!

BW:  And there won't be a five count on this one.  Meekly has to sit
there with his hands in his pockets watching.  He can't do a thing about
it, Gordo.

GM:  This is part of what makes this the most dangerous match in
wrestling, Bucky.  No rules, no escape... just brutality and bloodshed
until one man can't fight any more.

[After a few more moments, Rhodes breaks the choke, dragging Vasquez to
his feet and out of the corner.  Smirking, he grabs Vasquez by the hair
with both hands...

...and DRIVES his skull into the fan favorite's with a crushing headbutt
blow!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot that was!

[The impact of the headbutt knocks Vasquez back against the ropes,
grabbing the top rope to stay on his feet.]

GM:  That skull of Raphael Rhodes is so very dangerous.  We've seen so
many headbutts do so much damage from him.

[With Vasquez leaning against the ropes, Rhodes stalks towards him,
ready to deliver another blow...

...but Vasquez lunges off the ropes, connecting with a hands down
head-to-head smash!]

GM:  Oh!  Vasquez with a headbutt of his own!  And that one shook
Raphael Rhodes!  No way he saw that one coming!

BW:  Who would?  Why would ANYONE want to trade headbutts with Raphael
Rhodes?

GM:  Rhodes is staggered from that headbutt... 

[Vasquez steps up again, grabbing Rhodes behind the neck, and DRIVES
home another vicious headbutt - this one causing Rhodes to fall back
across the ring, dropping into a seated position on the middle rope.  He
is visibly wincing as he shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs as
Vasquez approaches him again.]

GM:  The Los Angeles native moving in for more...

[The fan favorite grabs Rhodes by the head, pulling him off the ropes
and hooking him around the neck again...

...but Rhodes slaps the arms apart, winding up and UNLEASHING a savage
headbutt - the worst of the match so far as a gut-wrenching CRACK is
heard throughout the arena.  The blow immediately sends the two men
falling apart, Vasquez to the mat and Rhodes back against the cage.  The
crowd roars at the headbutt duel and then somehow gets louder as they
catch a glimpse of the forehead of Raphael Rhodes.]

GM:  Rhodes has been busted open!  He split his own head open with the
headbutt!

[Down on the mat, Vasquez looks up at Rhodes who just realized the
crimson has started to flow down his forehead, and starts laughing at
the Brit...

...who responds by viciously stomping the head of Vasquez with the
construction boots!]

GM:  Ohh!  I guess Rhodes didn't like the idea of Vasquez laughing at
him.  You can't blame Vasquez for being excited that he won the headbutt
duel.

BW:  He what?  Won?  He was flat on his back!

GM:  Yeah, but it was Rhodes who was bleeding.

BW:  And if this was a first blood match, I'd give a damn.  But since
it's a steel cage match, I'll say the guy who is on his feet dishing out
a beating is the man who is winning, daddy!

[A few stomps later, Rhodes drags Vasquez off the mat by the hair,
snapping off a hard knife-edge chop that knocks the LA native back into
the ropes.  The Brit wipes a hand across his brow, clearing his forehead
of blood for the moment as he moves in again...

...and delivers a hard overhead elbow smash down on the crown of the
skull, knocking Vasquez into the ropes again.]

GM:  Rhodes pulls him off the ropes... scoop...

[But instead of slamming Vasquez down to the mat, Rhodes slings him over
his shoulder into powerslam position.]

GM:  Uh oh!  He's got Vasquez up on the shoulder!

BW:  That running powerslam is one of Rhodes' signature moves, Gordo.

GM:  Back to the ropes... here he comes...

[But a powerslam is not what is on the mind of Raphael Rhodes right now
as he sprints across the ring, not pausing for an instant, and DRIVES
Vasquez' skull into the steel mesh!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

[The crowd echoes Gordon's sentiments as Rhodes lets Vasquez slump down
to the mat in a heap, immediately lifting his hands to clutch his own
head.]

GM:  And Juan Vasquez might have had his own head split open off of
that.

BW:  I'll lay twenty to one that's EXACTLY what Rhodes had in mind right
there, Gordo.

[Rhodes leans over Vasquez, slapping the hands away to check the
forehead of his rival.  Seeing no blood, an annoyed Rhodes drops down to
his knees, straddling the chest of Vasquez while grabbing his hair with
his left hand, pulling Vasquez up by the hair...

...and DRILLS him with a taped right hand!]

GM:  Another hard right hand by Rhodes!  He wants the blood to flow.  He
wants Juan Vasquez to have that head split open just like he had done to
him a few moments ago.  

[Leaning over, Rhodes grabs two hands full of hair, sinking his teeth
into the forehead of the fan favorite.]

GM:  He's biting him!

BW:  Rhodes has snapped!  If he can't punch that head open, he'll gnaw
it open!  Raphael Rhodes wants to split him open so very badly.  He
wants Vasquez to bleed and bleed buckets here tonight in Greensboro.

[Vasquez shoves away from Rhodes, falling back down to the mat as Rhodes
slowly gets to his feet...

...and drops down to his knees, driving his clenched taped fist into the
skull of Vasquez!]

GM:  A fistdrop now - again with that taped right hand!

[Still kneeling, Rhodes drives a few more taped fists into the forehead
of Vasquez before shoving him back down to the mat.  The Brit slowly
gets up, stalking around the downed form of Juan Vasquez before stepping
up to his feet, reaching down to hook Vasquez behind the knees with both
arms.]

GM:  CATAPULT!

[Rhodes falls back, using his knees to push Vasquez up in the direction
of the steel cage...

...but Vasquez manages to land on his feet on the middle rope, spinning
around to LAUNCH himself at a rising Rhodes with a middle rope shoulder
block!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  WHAT A COUNTER BY VASQUEZ!

[Rhodes tumbles head over shoulders away from the impact, ending up
clear across the ring from Vasquez who pushes up to his knees, trying to
get a second wind with the help of the roaring crowd.]

GM:  Listen to these fans!  They want to see Vasquez return a little bit
of what they just watched Raphael Rhodes dish out to him, Bucky!

BW:  Vasquez should call it a night and get out of the cage while he
can.

GM:  You can't win the match that way.  Pinfall or submission only
inside this massive steel cage.  15 feet tall and as dangerous as you
could possibly imagine!

[Vasquez slowly walks across the ring as Rhodes pulls himself up using
the ropes.  The fan favorite blasts Rhodes with a hard chop across the
chest.  He grabs the wrist of Rhodes, firing him across the ring.]

GM:  Irish whip... clothesli- ducked by Rhodes!

[The Brit hits the far ropes, rebounding off...

...and catching a set Vasquez in the face with a hard kick!]


"TEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  FIFTY MINUTES REMAIN!"


GM:  Ohh!  Vasquez set for the backdrop early and he paid the price for
it!

[Vasquez falls back from the impact of the kick, stopping near the ropes
where Rhodes charges him.]

GM:  Rhodes- OHHHHHH!

[The crowd ERUPTS as Vasquez drops the head again,  this time to perfect
effect as he backdrops Rhodes through the air, sending him crashing into
the solid steel mesh!]

GM:  BACKDROP INTO THE WALL OF THE CAGE!!  OH MY!!

[The impact of the backdrop into the cage causes Rhodes to slump down to
the apron beyond the ropes against the cage.  Vasquez drives a few
stomps to the body under the bottom rope, causing Rhodes to sit up on
the apron, leaning against the cage.]

GM:  Rhodes got thrown into the steel by Vasquez and now it's Juan's
turn to dish out some punishment.

[Holding onto the ropes, Vasquez slips his foot between the top and
middle ropes, pressing it against the face of Raphael Rhodes...

...and rakes his boot across Rhodes' flesh, smashing into the steel!]

GM:  Ohh!  

BW:  Bootscrape by Vasquez!  Right across the cut on the forehead!  

GM:  For you parents at home, this might be time to put the kids to bed
because this match just got a lot uglier.  An absolutely SAVAGE move by
Juan Vasquez that just goes to show how badly he wants to win this match
as well.  

[Still holding the ropes, Vasquez positions his foot again...

...and again rips the skin of Rhodes against the steel with a
bootscrape!]

GM:  Good grief!  This is hard to watch, Bucky!

[The crowd grimaces along with Bucky.  The camera shot cuts to a
ringside shot through the cage, revealing a rapidly-growing crimson mask
of Raphael Rhodes as his face rests against the sharp steel mesh.]

GM:  Another one?  No!

[Nodding his head, Vasquez rakes his boot again across the skin!

And again!

And again!

Suddenly, he breaks off the attack, rushing to the far side of the cage
and sprinting across...]

GM:  VASQUEZ!

[The fan favorite drops down in a baseball slide, DRIVING both feet
squarely into the side of Rhodes' face, SMASHING it into the steel mesh
yet again!  The crowd ERUPTS from the move, roaring as Juan Vasquez
rises to a knee, nodding his head at the reaction of the Greensboro
crowd.]

GM:  This match has just been taken to a whole new level of savagery!

[Reaching through the ropes, Vasquez grabs Rhodes with both hands,
dragging him back inside the squared circle.  The crowd roars as Vasquez
hauls him to his feet, blood now pouring from the formerly-small wound
on the forehead of the Brit...

...and promptly charges towards one of the cage walls, HURLING Rhodes
facefirst into the cage!]

GM:  OHHH!  INTO THE STEEL!

[Rhodes bounces off the steel, stumbling back towards Vasquez who stops
him from falling to the mat.  He promptly nods his head...

...and POINTS to the opposite wall of the cage, sending the crowd into a
frenzy as Vasquez charges towards that wall and HURLS Rhodes into the
cage again!]

GM:  AGAIN TO THE STEEL!  RHODES IS A HUMAN PINBALL!

[The Brit falls backwards, slumping down to a knee as Vasquez pumps his
fist, the crowd rising to their feet to scream for their favorite.  He
grabs Rhodes by the hair, bending his head back for a moment as he
glares down at his rival, then yanking him up to a vertical base...

...and then charges towards the adjacent side of the cage, FIRING him
facefirst to the steel once again!]

GM:  Good grief!

[Rhodes grabs the ropes, clinging to them to try and avoid more damage. 
Vasquez slaps his hands together, marching across the ring to where
Rhodes is now hanging on with all his strength to the top rope.]

GM:  Not again!

[Vasquez grabs Rhodes by the head, tearing him away from the ropes which
causes Rhodes to fall to a knee.  The LA native glares at the kneeling
Rhodes, shaking his head...

...and exends his arm to the crowd, slowly raising a thumbs up.]

GM:  He's asking the crowd!  He's asking the crowd if he should show
mercy to Raphael Rhodes!  Just like the Colisseum in Ancient Rome!

[Predictably, the crowd gives a THUMBS DOWN!]

GM:  The Greensboro Coliseum crowd has no mercy for Raphael Rhodes!

[Vasquez charges across the final length of the ring and somehow manages
even more force as he THROWS Rhodes into the final side of the cage! 
Rhodes spins away from the impact...

...and collapses facefirst on the canvas!  Vasquez drops down to his
knees, flipping his rival to his back and leaving a ghastly bloody smear
on the canvas as the LA native reaches back to hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd groans with disappointment as a weary Raphael Rhodes slips a
shoulder off the mat just before the three count falls.  Vasquez pushes
up off the mat, shaking his head in a mixture of disbelief and annoyance
as he looks down at his rival.]

GM:  Look at Rhodes, Bucky.  Look at him!

BW:  Ugh.  I'd rather not.

[The camera catches a closeup of Raphael Rhodes, revealing a face that
looks like something out of a slasher movie, the full-on crimson mask in
effect.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez has done a number on his arch-enemy in a big time way
here inside the steel cage, Bucky.  An absolutely disgustingly bloody
Raphael Rhodes is a mess... a huge mess.  

BW:  I feel a little woozy, Gordo.  

GM:  Take it easy, Bucky.  It'll be over soon enough.

BW:  That's what you think.  I wouldn't be surprised if these two fought
for days!

[Vasquez slowly gets to his feet, a look of frustration on his face as
he hauls the bloodied and limp Rhodes off the mat, connecting with a big
chop that knocks Rhodes back into the ropes where he clings to them,
trying to stay on his feet.]

GM:  Rhodes can barely stand.  He's lost too much blood.

[Grabbing Rhodes, Vasquez shoves him into the corner, driving a few
kicks to the body before hitting another big chop to straighten him up. 
He grabs the wrist of Rhodes, attempting an Irish whip but Rhodes only
goes a few steps before collapsing to the canvas.]

GM:  He can't even stand!  Raphael Rhodes is just a- Vasquez throws him
back into the corner... where's he going now?

[With Rhodes backed into the crowd, Vasquez backs to the opposite side
of the ring...

...and breaks into a full sprint.]

GM:  HERE HE COMES!

[A few feet out of the corner, Vasquez throws himself into the air with
a corner splash...

...but comes up empty as the bloodied Rhodes throws himself out of the
way just in time, causing Vasquez to land chestfirst on the top
turnbuckle.]

GM:  HE MISSED!  HE MISSED IT ALL RIGHT THERE!

[With Vasquez hung out to dry over the buckles, Rhodes ducks down
underneath his legs, pushing up to throw Vasquez over the ropes and down
to the mat near the steel.]

GM:  Raphael Rhodes with a burst of energy from somewhere.  That blood
continues to pour down his face.  He keeps wiping it off but it's right
back there a moment later.  This is absolutely horrifying to watch,
Bucky.

BW:  We've seen some bloody matches in the AWA before but nothing like
this, Gordo.  Raphael Rhodes looks like someone slashed his face with a
razor blade!

[Sucking wind, Rhodes leans over the top rope, grabbing Vasquez by the
hair and dragging him to his feet.  With Vasquez pushed against the
steel, Rhodes backs up and throws hooking blows to the ribcage from
behind.  A hard construction boot to the lower back knocks Vasquez into
the steel again.]

GM:  He's working over Vasquez against the steel...

[Rhodes climbs up on the middle rope, holding onto the steel with one
hand as he grabs Vasquez' hair with the other...

...and throws a hard knee into the back of the head, smashing Vasquez'
face into the steel before dropping back down to the mat.]

GM:  I don't even know how Rhodes is standing right now, Bucky.

BW:  I'd prefer not to talk about it.  It's a shame we can't watch this
match in black and white now.  

[Rhodes reaches over the ropes again, this time to tie up the arms of
the Brit between the top and middle ropes.  Trapped by Rhodes, Vasquez
struggles to break free...

...but instead has his face shoved into the steel mesh, the hard forearm
of Raphael Rhodes pushing against the back of his head to hold it
there.]

GM:  Rhodes is pushing his face into the steel, grabbing two hands full
of hair now and- ahhh!

[The crowd cries out as Rhodes rakes Vasquez' flesh back and forth
across the sharp steel mesh.]

GM:  He's screaming at Juan to quit - I don't think that's likely.

BW:  Maybe not but we did see Ron Houston submit earlier tonight to Pure
X.  I didn't think that was likely either, did you?

GM:  I sure didn't.  Anything can happen here in the AWA, I suppose.

[Reaching around Vasquez' face, Rhodes sinks two fingers into his mouth,
yanking back on the corner of it.]

GM:  Ahh!  He's fish-hooking Vasquez!  Ripping and tearing at the flesh
of his enemy!  These fans are all over Rhodes, trying to get him to
break it!

[Suddenly, Rhodes does break the fish-hook, stumbling across the ring to
the far side.  He takes a deep breath, wiping his face, and charges
across the ring.  A few steps from the ropes, he throws himself into a
crossbody...

...and SMASHES into the back of Vasquez, driving him facefirst into the
steel again!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Vasquez' arms slip from the ropes, causing him to slump down to the
ring apron from the impact.  A kneeling Rhodes grabs his wrist, dragging
him under the ropes into the squared circle and promptly collapses
across his chest.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  Vasquez gets the shoulder out at two!  

[Pushing up off Vasquez, Rhodes slams a hammerfist down on the bridge of
Vasquez' nose, forcing Vasquez to fire both hands up to cover his face. 
Rhodes violently slams another pair of hammerfists down on the
covered-up nose...

...and then DRILLS him with a taped right hand in the forehead before
dropping down in another pin attempt.]

GM:  One!  Two!  And Vasquez gets the shoulder up again!

[The camera zooms in on Vasquez, revealing a trickle of blood coming
from his right nostril.  An ever-violent Rhodes grabs the nose with his
fingers, squeezing and twisting as Vasquez flails back and forth, trying
to wriggle free...

...and has both hands wrapped around his throat in a choke!]

GM:  Come on!   

BW:  Rhodes is trying to conserve some strength, I think, Gordo.  And to
do that, he needs to use some simple but effective offense.  Things like
the hammerfists and the choke.  Those will hurt Vasquez - wear him down
but it won't do anything to Rhodes' waning stamina.

[Rhodes breaks the choke after a bit, still kneeling on the canvas.  He
climbs to his feet, pulling Vasquez off the mat by the hair, and right
into a side waistlock.]

GM:  Belly to back on the waaaaaay...

[But as the Brit gets Vasquez into the air, he starts flailing and
wriggling, trying to free himself.  The weakened Rhodes staggers with
him, a little too close to the side of the cage where Vasquez plants his
feet on the mesh, shoving off into a backflip where he lands on a knee
behind Rhodes...

...who spins around and drives BOTH feet squarely in the face of his
opponent!]

GM:  OHHH!

BW:  Those construction boots... in a dropkick?  Good god, that must
have hurt.

GM:  Juan Vasquez covers up immediately... trying to protect his face...

[A hard stomp to the hands covering the face knock the hands away and a
second stomp connects right in the middle of the face, worsening the
flow of blood coming from Vasquez' nose...

...and Rhodes suddenly takes a step back, throwing his arms wide, and
dropping straight down in a falling headbutt!]

GM:  Headbutt!  On target!

BW:  Falling headbutt on the button and Raphael Rhodes gets a little bit
of payback for that headbutt exchange earlier in the match.  

GM:  And I'm not sure but-

[Rhodes stays facefirst on the mat, just pushing up enough to sink his
teeth into the flesh of Juan Vasquez' forehead again.]

GM:  Biting!  I was about to say that I thought Vasquez had been cut
open by that headbutt but Rhodes went after him with those teeth again
before I could see for sure.

BW:  If he wasn't bleeding before, he might be now!

GM:  Raphael Rhodes is showing the world what a sadistic son of a- 

BW:  Easy, Gordo.

GM:  I'm sorry, fans.  But this guy is twisted.  He's not right in the
head.

[Rhodes finally rolls off of Vasquez, spitting a wad of blood into the
air to the disgust of the crowd.  He lies on the mat for a moment on his
back, cackling loudly.]

GM:  And yes, Juan Vasquez has been busted open, fans.

BW:  If you couldn't tell, Rhodes is pretty happy about that.

GM:  He just spit the man's blood in the air and now he's laughing. 
Tell me he's not a sick... psychotic... insane... I don't even have the
words for how Raphael Rhodes is presenting himself here tonight.

BW:  He said before the match started that this is what this was going
to be like.  It's not going to be some honorable trade of athletic
talent.  It was going to be ugly.  It was going to be bloody.  It was
going to be a fight, Gordo.  Why do you act surprised?

[Pushing off the mat, Rhodes stumbles a bit as he tries to get his
balance.  He grabs the side of the cage, delivering a pair of hard
stomps to the chest as Vasquez struggles to recover.  Leaning over, he
drags Vasquez off the mat, shoving him back to the buckles, and
delivering a series of kicks to the body.  Grabbing the middle rope, he
leans over once again, delivering vicious shoulder drives into the
ribcage.]

GM:  Back to work on the body, trying to take the last bit of wind out
of Vasquez - trying to drain the gas tank of any energy he has left...

[Rhodes steps back, straightening up as he looks at his bloodied rival
gasping for air...

...and LASHES out with an open-handed slap across the ear that knocks
Vasquez down to a knee!]

GM:  Ohh!  You could've heard that all the way back in the WKIK Studios!
 What a slap!

[Rhodes yanks Vasquez from the corner by the hair, dragging him out to
the middle of the ring.  Pulling him to his feet, Rhodes spins him
around, applying a rear waistlock...

...and takes him up and over with a German suplex holding in a bridge!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- OHHHHH!

BW:  He almost had him, Gordo!  He ALMOST had him beat!

GM:  He certainly did!  Raphael Rhodes was less than a half count away
from winning this cage match and this war with Juan Vasquez!  Rhodes
can't believe it.  He thought he had him for sure right there but he
just couldn't hold him down for a three.

[A woozy Rhodes rolls to his stomach, slapping the canvas in frustration
as he pushes up to his knees.  Vasquez lies flat on his back, his chest
heaving up and down as he tries to recover from the suplex that dumped
him on the back of his head and neck.]

GM:  Raphael Rhodes climbs to his feet, looking down at Vasquez.  He's
gotta be wondering what he has to do to win this match.  He hit the
headbutt... he hit the waistlock suplex... what else?

BW:  He's still got some bullets in the gun, daddy.  Don't count out
Rhodes just yet.

GM:  He's dragging Vasquez back up again...

[With the fan favorite on his feet, Rhodes ducks down behind him,
ducking between the legs and standing up, hoisting Vasquez up on his
shoulders in an electric chair lift.]


"TWENTY MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  TWENTY MINUTES!"


GM:  He's got Vasquez up on his shoulders!  You hear the timekeeper's
call.  There's a lot of time left in this match but I can't imagine
these two can last much longer.  The battering, the brutality, the
bloodshed - how can they even still be standing?

[Rhodes stumbles a bit, trying to keep Vasquez up in the air in the
electric chair...

...but a desperate Vasquez starts to battle back, first throwing right
hands to the top of the head, then lefts, then both!]

GM:  Vasquez is fighting it!  He's fighting it!

[The crowd roars as the barrage of blows from Vasquez causes Rhodes to
stumble towards the side of the cage...

...where Vasquez simply reaches out and grabs the steel mesh, pulling
himself off the shoulders of Rhodes, clinging to the side of the cage!]

GM:  VASQUEZ IS ON THE CAGE!  LISTEN TO THESE FANS!

[A hard back kick from Vasquez catches Rhodes on the chin, sending him
falling back to the middle of the ring.  A quick camera cut shows Juan
Vasquez take a deep breath, looking up...

...and then PUSH off the cage with both feet, backflipping through the
air in a picture perfect moonsault!]

GM:  BACKFLIIIIIIIIII- 


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


BW:  HE MISSED!  HE MISSED!  RHODES DIVED OUT OF THE WAY!

[Juan Vasquez did indeed miss the moonsault, the graceful backflip
hitting nothing but canvas as Raphael Rhodes lunged out of the way at
the very last second.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez hits the mat and he hits it hard!  Rhodes!

[The bloodied Rhodes dives to the mat, flipping Vasquez to his back, and
lunges across, reaching back to hook both legs tightly.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- NO!  NO!  SHOULDER UP!

[The crowd ERUPTS in relief as Vasquez fires a shoulder off the mat JUST
before the three count falls.  Rhodes immediately fires up to his knees,
burying his head in his hands.]

GM:  Raphael Rhodes is in shock!  How in the world does Vasquez miss a
backflip off the side of the cage and still manage to get the shoulder
off the mat in time?  How?

BW:  It's not over!  Rhodes needs to keep his head in the game!  Stay
focused!  

GM:  Rhodes can't believe it - and he's asking Marty Meekly if it's
really a two count.

[The official nods his head at Rhodes, showing him two fingers.  The
Brit shakes his head, climbing to his feet...

...and grabs Meekly by the shirt, shoving him back to the corner!]


"THREE!  IT WAS THREE!  SAY IT WAS THREE!"


GM:  Come on, Rhodes!  Leave Marty alone!  He's just doing his job!

[Meekly shakes his head, insisting it was a two count...

...and receives a headbutt to the bridge of the nose for his stand,
knocking him flat in the corner to the shocked jeers of the Greensboro
crowd!]

GM:  Oh, come on!  Give me a break!  This man... he should be fined...
he should be suspended... Raphael Rhodes is an absolute disgrace to his
family as well as to the entire American Wrestling Alliance!  He
intentionally struck an official and should be punished for that action!

[The bloodied Rhodes stands over the downed referee, showing no emotion
at all as he glares at his unconscious form...

...and then leans down.]

GM:  What is he doing now?  What is he doing to Marty Meekly, Bucky?

BW:  I'm not sure but I think he's- oh yeah, Gordo!  

[The crowd roars with hatred as Rhodes straightens up, now holding
Meekly's leather belt in his hands.]

GM:  He's got the referee's belt!  What is he going to do with that?

BW:  I'll give you three guesses.

GM:  Somebody's gotta put a stop to this!  This guy is sick!

[Clutching the belt buckle in his hand, he slowly turns towards Vasquez
who is flat on his stomach in the middle of the ring...

...and rears back his right hand, swinging the leather strap down across
the back of his rival!]

GM:  Ohh!  He lashed him with that belt!  Come on!

BW:  He's not done yet either.

[The jeers grow louder as Rhodes brings the belt up and down across the
back of Juan Vasquez over and over, leaving bright red welts on the
flesh of the fan favorite.]

GM:  This is digusting!  He's whipping a man... the ultimate in
indignities!  Juan Vasquez's back is just being torn to shreds with that
leather belt and- no!

[Looping the leather strap, Rhodes slips it over the head of Vasquez and
around his neck, quickly tightening it and placing a foot squarely on
the back of Vasquez, pulling back on the belt.]

GM:  He's strangling him with the belt!  He's choking him out with that
leather belt!  The referee is unconscious and-

BW:  And he couldn't do a damn thing about it if he was awake!  This is
anything goes!  This is a steel cage match at its most brutal!

[Still keeping his grip on the belt, Rhodes drags Vasquez around the
ring by the strap, continuing to strangle the air out of his
now-bloodied rival...

...and winds up in the corner.]

GM:  What in the- Rhodes is climbing the ropes!

[Keeping the belt in hand, he steps up to the bottom rope.  A step to
the middle rope starts to pull Vasquez' head off the mat.]

GM:  What is he doing?!

[Holding the cage with one hand, Rhodes steps up to the top rope,
pulling Vasquez to a seated position.  The bloodied Brit looks up,
almost pondering if he should climb higher.]

GM:  He's trying to hang Vasquez!  If he goes any higher up the ropes,
he's going to- NO!

[Rhodes steps up another notch on the cage, pulling Vasquez to a
standing position on the canvas...

...where he promptly steps up to the middle rope, grabbing the strap
with both hands and YANKS on it, sending Rhodes sailing off the steel
cage, flipping through the air and SMASHING down to the canvas in a
heap!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[Still standing on the middle rope, now with a leather belt in his
hands, Vasquez looks out over the crowd and lets loose a loud bellow
before hurling his body into the air, tucking his legs...

...and SMASHING down backfirst across the chest of Rhodes!]

GM:  BACKSPLASH!

BW:  SHADES OF TOMMY STEPHENS!

[Stunned by the impact, Vasquez reaches back with his left hand, hooking
a leg and staying stretched out across the downed Rhodes.]

GM:  There's no referee!  The referee is still down from that headbutt. 
He's just starting to stir but there's no way he can make the count on
this one!

[Vasquez sits up tiredly, looking around, and flips into a lateral press
with a "COME ON!"]

GM:  Juan Vasquez just might have this match won but there's no referee
there to count!  Vasquez wants the count and-

[An irate Vasquez raises his hand, slapping the canvas three times to a
cheer from the crowd.]

BW:  He can count to a hundred and it's not official, Gordo.

GM:  It's certainly not!  Juan Vasquez is so frustrated... and I can't
blame him one bit.  He thought this match was over and

[Back on his feet, Vasquez lets the belt dangle from his hand...

...and LASHES it down across the chest of Raphael Rhodes!]

GM:  OHH!

[The crowd gasps at Vasquez showing more of his "dark side" as he lashes
the belt down across the chest again.  A third one connects as well
before the referee climbs to his feet, dazily trying to get Juan to back
off.  Juan shakes his head, wrapping the belt around his fist, pointing
at the downed Rhodes.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez is letting his temper get the better of him here.  He
needs to try and win this match, not try to hurt Raphael Rhodes.  I know
it's tempting but-

BW:  That goes for both of these guys.  The goal here is to win. 
Vasquez may want to hurt Rhodes a little bit... heck, Rhodes may want to
hurt Vasquez a LOT.  But in the end, if they don't win the match, they
don't win the war.

[Vasquez shoves past the dazed official, pulling Rhodes off the mat to
his knees...

...and rears back with the belt-wrapped right hand.]

GM:  He's gonna drill him!  He's-

[But Vasquez pauses, looks out at the crowd...

...and then shakes his head, yanking Rhodes up to his feet.  Ducking
down, Vasquez picks Rhodes up, slinging him over his shoulder as he
grabs the legs with one hand, reaching back to cradle the head with the
other...]

GM:  LISTEN TO THESE FANS!  THEY KNOW WHAT'S COMING!

[Vasquez charges out to the middle, ready to DRIVE Rhodes' skull into
the mat with the City Of Angels...

...but somehow the bloodied Rhodes wriggles free, pulling Vasquez down
to the mat in a sunset flip!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THRE- 

[Trying to break the pin attempt, Vasquez lashes out with his right hand
to the skull...

...a right hand still wrapped in the referee's belt!]

GM:  OHHH!  HE BREAKS THE PIN WITH A BELT-WRAPPED RIGHT HAND!

[Rhodes drops backwards like a gunshot victim as the crowd roars. 
Vasquez slowly gets to his feet, throwing the leather belt down to the
canvas.  Turning his back on Rhodes, Vasquez points to the corner,
sending the crowd into a roar.]

GM:  Vasquez is going up!

BW:  This could be a mistake!  Vasquez and Rhodes - this whole thing
began over Rhodes trying to hit the big home run off the top against
Kentucky's Pride and missing!  Vasquez may be doing exactly what Raphael
Rhodes did last year!

GM:  He steps up to the middle rope... now to the top...

[The Los Angeles native stands on the top rope, breathing heavily as he
looks out over the crowd and down upon his rival.]

GM:  Vasquez is gonna fly!

[But before he can, the referee leans over to grab the discarded leather
belt...

...and puts himself right into position for Raphael Rhodes who shoves
the official HARD from behind, knocking him into the ropes.]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[Predictably, Vasquez falls from the ropes being shaken, straddling the
top turnbuckle.  As he grimaces in pain, the bloodied and battered
Raphael Rhodes climbs to his feet, stumbling towards the corner where
his rival is waiting.]

GM:  Rhodes is in the corner as well now... steps up to the middle
rope...

[With Vasquez stunned, Rhodes slings his rival's arm over his neck.]

GM:  Look out!  He's going for that superplex!

BW:  He calls it Nothing Fancy but if he hits it, it's all he needs to
go home a winner, daddy!

GM:  I think you're right about that one!  Rhodes... oh my stars...

[The crowd begins to buzz with concern as Rhodes steps to the top rope,
still holding his grip on Vasquez...

...and powering him off the buckles, taking him over in a superplex that
sends both men CRASHING down to the canvas!]

GM:  SUPERPLEX!  THE SUPERPLEX CONNECTS!

BW:  Ding dong, the witch is dead!

GM:  Rhodes is down though... he can't cover... he can't- 

BW:  Oh yes he can!

[Rhodes rolls over, throwing an arm across the chest of Vasquez.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- WHAT?!?

BW:  He picked him up!  He picked Vasquez up at two!

GM:  I saw that!  Why?!

BW:  He's not done with him!  He's not finished yet!

[Rhodes looks at the protesting official, flashing a blood-covered smirk
at the camera as it zooms in on him.  He shakes his head at the
official, using Marty Meekly's shoulder to drag himself up off the mat. 
He looks down at the motionless Vasquez...

...and immediately starts walking towards the corner.]

GM:  Where's he going?  

BW:  Oh, I think I know EXACTLY what he has in mind!

[Rhodes backs to the corner, chuckling to himself as he steps up to the
bottom rope... then to the middle rope...]

GM:  Where is he going, Bucky?

BW:  I just talked about the flying headbutt!  It was the source of ALL
of this, Gordo.  It's the reason these two started feuding and it's the
reason we're here tonight watching them bloody and beat one another to a
mess!

GM:  BUCKY, WHERE IS HE GOING?

[Rhodes steps up to the top rope, reaching out with both hands to steady
himself with the steel cage.]

BW:  HEAAAAAAADBUUUUUUUUTT!

[The flashbulbs fire as Rhodes springs from the top rope in a picture
perfect swandive headbutt aimed directly for the bloodied head of his
long-time rival...

...and CONNECTS!]

BW:  YES!  YES!  YES!

GM:  RHODES HITS THE HEADBUTT OFF THE TOP!  HE HIT THE HEADBUTT!

[But the impact of the headbutt is too much for Rhodes, causing him to
immediately roll to the side, clutching his skull in agony as the
referee steps in to check on both men.]

GM:  Both men are down!  The headbutt took too much out of Rhodes!  He
can't make a cover on Vasquez!

BW:  If he could, this match would be over!

GM:  You may be right but we'll never known!  Both men are down and- oh
no.

[The referee, seeing no signs of life from either man, does the thing
that no one wants to see him do at this moment...

...he counts.]

GM:  Marty Meekly is starting a double count!  Both of these men are not
moving one bit and Marty Meekly may have no choice but to count both of
these men out.

BW:  If this ends in a double countout, I'm stormin' the cage, daddy.

GM:  I might be right there with you.

[The count reaches three... then four...]

GM:  Still no movement from either man.  Listen to these fans, Bucky,
trying to cheer both of these men on.  They don't want to see this match
end this way.  Heck, they may not want to see this match end at all! 
This is one of the greatest matches I've ever seen in my life!

BW:  Get up!  GEEEEET UP!

GM:  The count hits six... now seven... and-

[With a cough, Raphael Rhodes pushes up off the mat, a bloody smear on
the canvas where he just lied...

...and with considerable strain, he kneecrawls the couple feet towards
his opponent, collapsing on top of him.]

GM:  COVER!  

[The referee dives to the canvas, ready to count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEE!!!

NO!!  NO!!  HE GOT THE SHOULDER UP!!  MY GOD, HE GOT THE SHOULDER UP!!

[Rhodes rolls off of Vasquez, his hands immediately covering up his face
as stomps his feet in frustration.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez got the shoulder up just in time!  JUST in time!  This
is amazing!  Absolutely incredible!

[Rhodes rolls to his stomach, shoving his arms underneath him as he
pushes up off the mat.  He kneels on the canvas, breathing hard as he
looks out over the crowd still buzzing with excitement that their
favorite managed to get the shoulder up.]

BW:  Raphael Rhodes - he just couldn't cover quick enough.  He should
have won this match but he just couldn't make the cover in time after
hitting the headbutt.

GM:  But the question is... he used the superplex... he used the flying
headbutt.  What does he do now?

[Almost on cue, Raphael Rhodes reaches into his pants...

...and pulls out a set of brass knuckles.]

GM:  Oh no.


"THIRTY MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  THIRTY MINUTES REMAIN!"


[The crowd EXPLODES in jeers as Rhodes holds the brass knuckles high for
everyone to see...

...and then slips them over his right hand, waiting for Vasquez to
stir.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez is down... Rhodes is waiting for him... the referee is
trying to get Rhodes to give him the knucks but-

BW:  But if he's not careful, Rhodes will REALLY give him the knucks.

[Meekly seems to realize the same thing, backing off as our camera notes
a small trickle of blood coming from his nose for the first time thanks
to Rhodes' headbutt.]

GM:  Vasquez rolls to his chest, slipping his arms under him.  He's
trying to get up but he has no idea what's waiting for him when he gets
there.

[The crowd roars, trying to warn their favorite of what's to come, but
he appears not to hear their call as he gets to his knees.]

GM:  He's on his knees... now to his feet... Rhodes is waiting!

[With his fist balled up, Rhodes bends over, ready to uncoil and strike
like a snake as a wobbly Vasquez starts to turn...

...and Rhodes rears back his right hand!]

GM:  RHODES!


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  VASQUEZ KICKED HIM!  VASQUEZ KICKED HIM LOW!

BW:  That's a low blow!  Vasquez went low on Rhodes!  What a hypocrite!

GM:  He didn't have a choice!  He needed to save himself from that
punch!

[And from the low blow, Rhodes hits the mat on his knees, doubled up and
clutching the Rhodes' family jewels...

...dropping the brass knuckles a couple of feet away where Juan Vasquez
quickly scoops them up, slipping them on his hand!]

GM:  JUAN'S GOT THE KNUCKS!

[This time, there's no "will he or won't he" drama as Vasquez rears back
and DRILLS the kneeling Rhodes right in the temple with the brass
knuckles, knocking him flat to the roar of the crowd.  Vasquez promptly
pulls the knucks off, throwing them aside as he starts to cover...

...and then stops.]

GM:  What's he doing?

BW:  I have no idea.

GM:  Juan Vasquez was about to make a cover but he stopped and I don't-

[HUGE CHEER!]

GM:  Vasquez just pointed to the corner!  He's going up top!

BW:  This is what he was going for earlier when Rhodes hit the
superplex.

GM:  You mean when Rhodes shoved the ref into the ropes to allow him to
hit the superplex.

BW:  Semantics.

[With the crowd roaring, Vasquez steps up to the top rope, turning to
face the ring, hanging onto the sides of the cage to stay stable.]

GM:  Vasquez is up top!  Juan Vasquez is gonna fly!

[The fan favorite nods his head, looking out over the crowd...

...and then pauses again, looking up.]

GM:  Oh my God.

BW:  Are you serious?!

GM:  He's not.  Please.  Tell me he's not!

BW:  OH YES HE IS!

[The crowd's roar turns to a buzz of concern as Vasquez turns away from
the ring and hand over hand starts climbing the 15 foot high steel cage,
heading for the high rent district.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez is climbing to the top of this steel cage!  I don't
believe it!

BW:  All he had to do was cover him and this match was over.  This is
Juan Vasquez being a gloryhound!  He wants to steal this night from
everyone else!  He wants to be the one people are talking about tomorrow
morning!

GM:  Vasquez is heading up there... he's beaten, bloodied, and has to be
exhausted but he's still climbing...

[Finally, Vasquez reaches the top of the cage, dragging himself up to
the top of the frame, moving into position, doubled up with his feet on
top of the steel cage structure...

...and with his arms outstretched for balance, he slowly straightens up
to his full height!]

GM:  OH MY GOD!  JUAN VASQUEZ IS STANDING ON TOP OF THIS CAGE!

BW:  A strong breeze might put him on the floor!

GM:  He's standing high... looking out over all these fans... looking
out over all of Greensboro... looking out over the entire AWA!  Juan
Vasquez is going to...

[And with one final nod of his head, Vasquez makes the sign of the
cross, takes a deep breath...

...and LEAPS!]

GM:  FLY!

[The crowd falls silent, showering Juan Vasquez in a flood of popping
flashbulbs as the whisper of several thousand prayers can be heard in
the air...

Just.

Before.

IMPACT!]

GM:  HE HIT IT!  HE HIT IT!  MY GOD IN HEAVEN, HE HIT IT!

[Vasquez' breathtaking dive from the top resulted in a big splash
squarely across the torso of Raphael Rhodes, shaking the entire ring
from the impact...

...and leaving Vasquez motionless across his rival's chest.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[With the crowd's deafening roar filling the air, a screaming Melissa
Cannon struggles to be heard as she makes it official.]

MC:  YOUR WINNER OF THE MATCH...

JUAAAAAAAAAAAAAN VASSSSSSSQUEZ!!!

[The roar somehow intensifies as the announcement echoes through the
entire Greensboro Coliseum.  The cage door flies open as a pair of AWA
officials along with a handful of medical team members burst into the
ring, splitting up to check on the two men.]

GM:  These fans are still on their feet... letting these men know they
appreciate what they just did.  You may disagree with some of the
tactics we saw from Raphael Rhodes...

BW:  Or Juan Vasquez.

GM:  A good point, Bucky.  You may disagree with some of the tactics
that EITHER of these men employed tonight in this brutal cage match but
you cannot disagree that they both put their bodies on the line tonight
to do what they love to do.  It was an incredible match and as the
medical team members work on them both, we can only hope neither man
suffered any long term damage.

[After a few more moments, the medical team members get Juan Vasquez to
his feet, each arm over the shoulders of one of the medics.  He weakly
raises a hand to salute the standing ovation he's receiving from the
crowd as he's helped towards the cage door exit.]

GM:  An amazing win for Juan Vasquez and if he heals up quickly, you
have to imagine this victory may put him in line for a National Title
shot in the very near future.

[Cradling his ribcage, Raphael Rhodes is also pulled up to his feet by
the medical team members.  They support him as he walks towards the cage
exit, also being cheered by many of the fans in the crowd.  He pauses
just before exiting the cage, looking around at the roaring crowd...

...and promptly gives them the finger.]

GM:  Well, Raphael Rhodes may not appreciate the ovation he got from
these fans but these fans appreciated the action that he just put on
inside that ring.  Rhodes may have lost the match but I think he's gone
a long way towards gaining the respect of the entire AWA tonight.  

[Rhodes exits the cage as well, being helped down the aisle towards the
exit.]

GM:  Fans, we also want to thank our broadcast partner WKIK who agreed
to limit the commercial interruptions throughout tonight's action.  They
knew how important this show was to the AWA's fans and they agreed to
put on the show with limited commercial breaks so that we could bring
you entire matches - like we just did - without break.  But now, we
desperately need to go to some commercial messages while the steel cage
is being taken down and we have a brief intermission here inside the
Coliseum.  Fans, don't go away, we'll be back shortly!

[We fade away from the shot of the now-empty steel cage...

...and then back up.  It's a shot of a few kids standing outside of a
classroom.  A fourth kid walks up to them, carrying his backpack over
his shoulder.]

4th Kid:  Hey guys... wait til you see what I got from AWAShop.com!

[He whips open the backpack and produces...

...a JUAN VASQUEZ BOBBLEHEAD!]

"Whoa!"

"Wow!"

"That rocks!"

"I want one... now!"

[The 4th kid looks pleased with himself...

...until a fifth kid walks up.]

5th Kid:  Juan Vasquez, huh?  That's not bad... but check this out!

[The 5th kid opens his backpack and reveals...

...a CITY JACK BOBBLEHEAD!]

"WHOA!"

"WOWER!"

"THAT ROCKS MORE!"

"I WANT ONE... NOW!"

[The fifth kid looks proud as the fourth kid looks sad at his Vasquez
bobblehead and we fade to black.

After a moment, we fade back up on a shot of Jason Dane and Mark
Stegglet in an apparently moving car.]

JD:  Hey, AWA fans - so much of our lives are now spent on-the-go,
wouldn't you love to be able to keep track of your favorite AWA
superstars when you're away from home?

MS:  I know I would, Jason!  And I'd also love to have a place to put
out all those rumors we hear during the week that never make AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling.

JD:  You've got that right.  Wouldn't it be great if we could combine
both of those ideas into one?

[Suddenly, a giant graphic of an iPhone appears between them!]

JD & MS:  NOW WE CAN!

[A voiceover takes over - thank God.]

VO:  Starting today, you can download AWA Access - a great new
application for your iPhone where you can get all the AWA news, rumors,
and happenings before the rest of the world.  And don't forget to check
out the "exclusive" section for matches that never aired!  AWA Access -
coming to an iPhone near you!

[Fade back to black...

...and then back up on the locker room area where Jason Dane is standing
next to the challenger in tonight's Main Event, "The Natural" Adam
Rogers.]

JD:  Welcome back, fans.  At this time, I have been joined here
backstage by the man who is just a short time away from stepping into
the ring to challenge "Hotshot" Stevie Scott for the National Title -
this man, Adam Rogers.  Adam, in your long career you have been in a
number of big matches like the one you are about to go into tonight. 
Does that make you more prepared than the champion?

[Adam glares intensely at the floor, then off-camera as he begins to
answer.]

AR: You're right, Jason, that I have been in a number of big matches in
my time inside the ring.  But none...none of them have been more
important than the match I am fighting tonight.

I've been hearing the whispers.  Reading the internet.  People are
wondering, people are speculating, people are in fact saying that the
career of "The Natural" is on the downward spiral.  Best days are behind
me.

[A pause.]

AR: Even the new champion said it, and said it to my face not too long
ago.  I _would_ give him credit for that, except for the fact that he
was flanked by the big musclehead and a geek with a loaded briefcase.
But he said it...said what everyone else is thinking.

Including myself.

Now like I have said before, Jason...I'm sick and tired of watching
people like Stevie Scott, like Adrian Freeman, like Ben Waterson...I'm
sick of watching them run this place and further defame what
professional wrestling is all about.  And I'd like nothing better than
to put a stop to that tonight by walking out of here with the AWA
National Title on my waist.

But more than that...

[Another pause.  Adam noticeably swallows before continuing.]

AR: More than that, I want...no...I _need_ to prove to everyone out
there that Adam Rogers still has gas in the tank...still has plenty of
miles left on the old engine...that he can still get it done in the ring
with the best of them.

All the words that Stevie Scott and Ben Waterson have said...they don't
mean a thing now.  Your loud mouth won't protect you tonight, champ.
Neither will your rule-breaking, because no matter what you try?  I've
already done it.  And I know how to stop it.

Tonight...it's my night.  It's my time once again.

My time...for redemption.

[Rogers claps Jason Dane on the shoulder and strides out of view as the
camera fades to black...

After a moment, we fade back up on a very long shot of the exterior of a
pretty dingy looking building.]

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

"Of your friends and family seeing you on television?"

[And just a little closer, revealing a red, white, and blue sign that
reads "AWA Combat Corner."]

"Well, now you can make all your dreams come true by signing up today at
the AWA Combat Corner - the official training school for the American
Wrestling Alliance!"

[We cut to the interior of the building where we can see lots of
standard gym equipment surrounding a very basic wrestling ring.  There
are people lifting weights, running on treadmills, and of course,
working out in the ring.]

"With the very best trainers in the business, the AWA Combat Corner is
the most-equipped training facility to get you in shape and get you in
the ring in the shortest amount of time!"

[Cut into the ring where Todd Michaelson is barking out instructions.]

"With former World Champion Todd Michaelson leading the classes, you can
guarantee that you will be prepared for in-ring action upon graduation
and with the AWA expanding by the day, you will have a place to work on
Day One!"

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

"So, stop by the Combat Corner today... call our offices... visit our
website... and let them know that you want to be the next AWA Superstar!
 You want to be the future of the business!

You want to wrestle!"

[Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner.  We
freeze there for a moment...

And then fade back in on Jason Dane, standing in between the two men
currently carrying the AWA National Tag Team Titles, Tin Can Rust and
City Jack. Rust is dressed in his ring gear, along with a Kentucky's
Pride t-shirt and his half of the tag titles worn proudly around his
waist. His teammate, though, certainly looks worse for wear. City Jack -
too in his ring gear, title belt slung across his shoulder and a black
"Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death" t-shirt - shows the affects of
Calisto Dufresne's vicious attack on the last SNW. His right eye's
bandaged and cloth wrapped around his head all under a clear plastic
mask. Jack's stance also tells a story - upright, but strained, and not
his usual strong imposing stance.]

JD: Jason Dane here, backstage with the National Tag Team Champions,
Kentucky's Pride. It's surprising to see you here tonight, City Jack,
after what we saw on the last Saturday Night Wrestling and the video of
the doctor's diagnosis.

[Before Dane can reach the mic out to City Jack, Tin Can Rust grabs
Dane's hand and directs the mic his way.]

TCR: Dane, you seem to think like Adrian Freeman and like Calisto
Dufresne. You seem to think that a sneak attack here and there will
force us out.

JD: I was just -

TCR: I know, I know. What you saw and what you heard, it wasn't good. My
partner here, City Jack, sustained some damage to his eye after that
coward Dufresne attacked him from behind. Well, there's a saying Dane
and it goes that you can't keep a good man down. And Freeman? Dufresne?
City Jack's one helluva a good man!

[Rust lets go of Dane's hand, allowing Dane to direct the mic over
towards City Jack.]

CJ: Let me just take it here from ya, Mr. Dane...

[A simmering City Jack pats Jason Dane on the chest as he takes his
mic.]

CJ: Ca-lis-to Du-fresne... Adrian Freeman...

[City Jack tips in to the side a little bit, hiding the bandaged eye.]

CJ: Let me tell you both a story. Let me tell you two a story of a
couple boys who got to thinkin' they could run it all and be it all!

[Jack, a bundle of nerve and anger, moves his hand about as he speaks.]

CJ: Let me tell you the story of a couple o' boys who...

[Jack turns a bit to show his bandaged eye and clear protection mask
fully again.]

CJ: Went one step too far. Who bit off one little bit more than they
sure could chew. Two boys who got to thinkin' they got it all made in
the blackest of shades when in reality?

[City Jack seethes, showing a side of the man many rarely ever see.]

CJ: They only just awoke one big ol' sob of an angry giant!

[Tin Can Rust, still arms akimbo, nods along as Jason Dane looks on.]

CJ: You think you two little punk BOYS can do what you did to Marcus
Brous-sard? What you all tried to do to Adam Rogers? 

[City Jack flashes a grin - but not his normal jovial smile. No, more
anger-filled.]

CJ: YOU ALL THINK YOU CAN PUT ME OUT!?! You all think you can put this
ol' horse down for good?!?

[Jack shakes his head and wags his finger.]

CJ: No you don't, "BIG MEN"! Not last time out in Chattanooga, not
tonight in Greensboro, and certainly never in a day in my time here on
God's Green Earth!

[Jack balls up his hand into a fist.]

CJ: So let me get to finishin' that there story - the one where that big
ol' one-eyed angry sob of a man teams up with a man who's done crushed
up more than his fair share of young'uns hopes before... 

[Jack quickly juts his hand back towards Tin Can Rust.]

CJ: And they go into to the squared circle o' battle to face two of the
yellowest, most back-bitin', biggest pain's in the rear that reddest
devil ever done unleashed on the world! And when them two yellow dogs go
face to face the two champ-eens..., three eyes to four...

[Jack cracks a little smile, trying to roll with it all, but it's only
momentary as he gets serious again.]

CJ: Well, we ain't goin' to embarrass 'em. We ain't goin' to learn 'em
some. And we ain't just goin' to beat 'em neither. No sir, no sir -

[City Jack shakes his head.]

CJ: No sir, cause this time 'round, we goin' make sure what has to be
done is done - puttin' them two yellow dogs down for good!

[With that, City Jack hands Jason Dane the mic back as he and Tin Can
Rust walk off the shot.]

JD:  Gordon, Bucky... this is going to be one heck of a title match. 
Melissa, she's all yours!

[We cut back to the ring where the steel cage has been removed and
Melissa Cannon is standing in the middle of a slightly-crimson stained
ring.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a sixty minute
time limit... and it is for the AWA National Tag Team Titles!

[Big cheer!]

MC:  Introducing first... they are the challengers...

["Try Honesty" by Billy Talent kicks in to a huge negative reaction.]

GM:  Here comes perhaps the two most unpopular people in the entire AWA
and in a place with men like Stevie Scott, Shane Destiny, Raphael
Rhodes, and Kevin Slater... that's saying something.

[Melissa continues.]

MC:  At a total combined weight of 435 pounds...

"SUBZERO" ADRIAN FREEMAN AND "THE LADYKILLER" CALISTO DUFRESNE!

[The boos grow louder for the AWA's most hated duo as they make their
way to the ring, climbing the steps before entering through the ropes. 
Dufresne leaps to the middle ropes, arms spread open to soak up the
reaction as Freeman stands nearby, tugging the ropes to loosen up.]

MC:  And their opponents...

["My Old Kentucky Home" by Stephen C. Foster plays as the fans let out a
huge cheer as they rise to their feet for the AWA National Tag Team
Champions. Out first is Tin Can Rust, wearing a determined and almost
sinister face as he looks on to his opponents down at the ring. He holds
his half of the tag team belts in his hands, rising it up high in the
air proudly. He stops at the top of the ramp as the cheers grow even
louder from the fans...]

GM: If you asked me if I thought City Jack would be here tonight to
compete, I wouldn't have been able to say yes. That henious attack from
Calisto Dufresne, after having taken those brutal fists to the eye in
the Patterson/Pain match? I just didn't think we'd see City Jack
tonight.

BW: And we probably shouldn't, Gordo. Just look at him - I don't know
how he was even cleared to compete!

[As seen in their interview from before, Jack has the eye that was
brutally attacked last show out wrapped and held up under bandages and a
clear mask held around the noggin of City Jack via an elastic strap.
Even though Jack's face is a bit distorted thanks to the mask, one can
see that he sports an angered and ready look as the pair make their way
down to the ring. As Jack passes by the fans, he stretches his hands out
to meet theirs, but it's not like other times he's come down the aisle
as he keeps his eye focused on the figure of Calisto Dufresne.]

GM: Normally we see Rust as the more focused member of Kentucky's Pride
before a match, but City Jack looks like he's ready to burst not being
in that ring.

BW: He's feeding right into Freeman and Dufresne's hands, Gordo. Get the
big blob angry to come back in match he's got no business being in.

[Both Rust and Jack make their way around the ring for a moment,
circling it and greeting the fans, but all the while watchful of
Dufresne and Freeman. After their walk around the ring, they walks up
the steps and go through the ropes, handing over the titles to the ref
before conferring in the corner.] 

GM:  And we just talked about it - it looks like City Jack is trying to
convince Tin Can Rust to let him start the match out.

BW:  Good idea!  Put 'im in, Rust!

GM:  It's an absolutely horrible idea in my estimation, Bucky.

BW:  And how many title defenses do you have on your record?

GM:  None, as you know.

BW:  Then who are you to doubt City Jack?

[Tin Can Rust is having none of Jack's idea, vehemately shaking his head
and holding up his hands to force Jack back towards the Kentucky's Pride
corner.  Across the ring, Calisto Dufresne is glaring at City Jack,
waving him to "bring it."]

GM:  Look at Dufresne - trying to get Jack to come after him.  Jack
wants to do it too.  He wants to get his hands on City Jack in the worst
possible way.

BW:  I think he should get that chance.  He should start the match!

GM:  You're just dying to see City Jack permanently injured, aren't you?

BW:  I'm not sure dying is the right word for it.

[Still denying his partner's wishes, Tin Can Rust spreads his arms,
forming a barrier as City Jack tries to move past him.  Reluctantly,
Jack finally nods his head, stepping out to the apron as Adrian Freeman
slaps his partner on the shoulder before Dufresne steps outside the ring
as well.]

GM:  We're about ready to kick off this match for the National Tag Team
Titles and it looks like it's gonna be Tin Can Rust and Adrian Freeman
starting off for their respective teams.

[Referee Mickey Meekly stands in the middle of the ring...

...and calls for the bell!]

GM:  Here we go!

[Tin Can Rust wastes absolutely no time in rushing across the ring
towards a surprised Adrian Freeman, overwhelming him with flailing
strikes that barrels Freeman back into his own corner.  Rust takes a
step back, throwing hooking blows to the body that has Freeman cringing
with every blow.]

GM:  He's all over Freeman and-

[The crowd ERUPTS as Rust winds up his fist again but instead DRILLS
Calisto Dufresne with it, knocking the Ladykiller down to the floor as
City Jack slaps his hands together in the corner.]

GM:  Oh yeah!

[With Dufresne down, Rust drags Freeman out of the corner by the head,
grabbing his wrist...

...and FIRING him into the corner which sends Freeman sailing over the
ropes and down to the floor right next to his partner!]

GM:  Rust clears the ring!  And these fans are on their feet!

BW:  Look out!

[Tin Can Rust steps out to the apron, dropping down to the floor where
he immediately drills a rising Dufresne with a right hand, grabbing him
by the back of the head...

...and FIRING him shoulderfirst into the ring steps!]

GM:  Calisto Dufresne may have crossed a line he shouldn't have crossed,
Bucky.  He seems to have lit a major fuse under Tin Can Rust and the
veteran is exploding all over them both right now!

BW:  He's what?

[Rust grabs Freeman as well.  A quick gesture to the timekeeper clears
him out of the way as Rust winds up and SLAMS Freeman facefirst into the
table to a big cheer!]

GM:  Freeman hits the table hard!

BW:  DQ!  DQ!

GM:  Fine but they won't win the titles that way, Bucky!

BW:  Never mind.

[The veteran fires Freeman under the ropes into the ring before starting
to dive in himself...

...when Calisto Dufresne suddenly lunges from the floor, grabbing Rust's
legs and preventing him for sliding into the ring.]

GM:  Look at this!

[With Rust fighting to free himself, trying to pull his legs out,
Freeman leaps into the air to drop a big knee across the back of Rust's
head and neck.]

GM:  Ohh!  

BW:  Brilliant!  Brilliant!  Dufresne prevented Rust from getting back
into the ring and Freeman lowers the boom on him!  And there's another
kneedrop to the back of the head!

[The Australian drags Rust under the ropes by the arm, pulling him up to
his feet, and firing him into the ropes.  Freeman charges towards him,
knocking him flat with a back elbow smash under the chin.  All smiles,
Dufresne pulls himself up on the apron, reaching in for the tag which he
quickly gets.]

GM:  Dufresne in off the exchange...

[Freeman pulls Rust up, holding his arms behind him which allows
Dufresne to bury a boot into the midsection of one-half of the tag team
champions.]

GM:  Nice doubleteam by the challengers there...

[Dufresne races to the ropes behind Rust, rebounding off, and slamming
his shoulder into the back of Rust's knee, chopblocking the leg out from
under him.]

GM:  Ohh!  He clipped the knee!  He took the leg right out from under
Rust and City Jack - City Jack is dying out there on the apron watching
this...

[Jack puts a foot up on the bottom rope, stretching his hand into the
ring...

...which causes a kneeling Calisto Dufresne to smirk, inviting Jack into
the squared circle once more.]

GM:  Dufresne wants him in there.  Dufresne is DYING to have him in
there!  He wants another shot at City Jack.

BW:  He wants a shot at that eye!  He wants to take Jack's eye out and
roll it down the aisle to the locker room.

GM:  That's disgusting, Bucky.

[Dufresne gets back to his feet, grabbing the downed Rust by the wrist,
dragging him across the ring...

...towards his own corner.]

GM:  Look at this.  Dufresne is actually taking Tin Can Rust towards his
own corner.  We've talked about it many times that the key to tag team
wrestling is to cut the ring in half and keep the man in your corner. 
Dufresne is doing the opposite!

BW:  But in this case, I think it's brilliant strategy, Gordo.  They
know that they're in much better position to win this match if they can
get City Jack steamed enough to force himself into the match.  If Jack
gets in there, the tag team titles are as good as theirs!

[Dufresne pulls Rust to a knee, holding his wrist and stretching it out
towards City Jack...

...but a sharp back elbow by Rust snaps it away from his partner and
sends Dufresne stumbling backwards!]

GM:  Rust is fighting back!

[Climbing to his feet, Rust grabs Dufresne by the wrist, firing him to
the ropes...

...and levelling him with a running clothesline!]

GM:  AND DOWN GOES DUFRESNE!

[A fired-up Rust is hobbling a bit as he leans down, dragging Dufresne
off the canvas again.  A hard haymaker sends Dufresne falling back to
the middle of the ring where the veteran is quick to pursue, hands
balled up and ready to fly.]

GM:  He's ready to knock Dufresne flat!

[But the Ladykiller is backscooting towards his own corner, lifting a
hand to beg for mercy...

...and gets close enough to his corner to make a tag, allowing Adrian
Freeman to come back into the ring, sprinting towards Tin Can Rust who
sidesteps, flipping Freeman over to the canvas with a hiptoss!]

GM:  Freeman's down... back up though and-

[And a running clothesline takes the Australian down as well!]

GM:  Oh yeah!

[Freeman hits the mat and starts rolling, right under the ropes to the
floor where Calisto Dufresne drops down off the apron to consult with
him.]

GM:  Both men outside now, trying to regroup and- 

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  Rust is going after them again!

[Out on the floor, Tin Can Rust spins around the corner, charging
towards both men...

...and runs right into both men hoisting him into the air by the upper
legs, falling back and dropping Rust FACEFIRST on the barely-padded
concrete floor!]

GM:  OHHH!  FLAPJACK ON THE FLOOR!

[The crowd instantly deflates as Rust rolls back and forth on the floor,
clutching his face and chest as Dufresne and Freeman slowly get back to
their feet, looking almost surprised at what they just did.  Across the
ring, City Jack is still on the apron, letting loose a stream of insults
in the direction of the duo.]

GM:  Eeeps.  Parents, you might want to shield your children's ears
right now.  City Jack is fired up and I must say, rightfully so.

BW:  Did he just call him a-

GM:  Yeeeep.

[Dufresne pulls Rust off the floor, shoving him under the ropes as
Freeman rolls in as well.  Freeman pops up to his feet, delivering a
barrage of stomps to the back of the head and neck.  A hard kick to the
ribs rolls Rust to his back where Freeman drops a big knee on the skull,
quickly applying a lateral press.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Rust kicks out at two!  It's gonna take more than a few
stomps and a kneedrop to finish off Tin Can Rust, Bucky.

BW:  Maybe but how long can Tin Can Rust survive a two on one situation?
 That's the real question.  He's a tough son of a gun - no doubt about
that.  But he's gotta fight off two men for as long as it takes to win
this match.  Can he do it?  I don't think so.

GM:  Freeman drags Rust off the mat, hard kick to the body knocks him
back against the ropes... ohh!  Hard chop by the Australian!  And
another chop as well!

[A European uppercut connects causing Rust to fall away from Freeman,
staggering towards his corner where City Jack has his hand outstretched.
 Rust pulls up short, shaking his head...

...and gets DRILLED with a forearm smash to the back of the head by
Freeman, knocking him down to a knee.]

GM:  Listen to Freeman screaming "TAG HIM!"  What a jerk.

BW:  He's just giving some friendly advice, Gordo.

GM:  I'm sure.

[Freeman grabs the arm of Rust, holding it up, the veteran struggling
against his grip to make sure City Jack can't reach his hand to make the
tag.]

GM:  He's trying to force Rust to make the tag!  

[Giving up, Freeman spins in front of Rust, delivering a hard kick to
the chest that knocks him back down to the mat...

...and spins around, connecting with a right hand to City Jack!]

GM:  Ohh!  Come on!

[A pissed-off Jack bursts through the ropes, fit to be tied...

...and gets cut off, wrapped up by Mickey Meekly who won't let him at
Adrian Freeman who backs to the middle of the ring, fists raised at the
ready.  Freeman shouts "COME ON!  COME ON!" in the direction of City
Jack but the fiesty Mickey Meekly won't let Jack pass.]

GM:  Mickey Meekly is putting himself right in City Jack's path - tying
him up so he won't get in there.  The referee is actually looking out
for City Jack as well.

BW:  Which seems pretty biased if you ask me.

GM:  Are you out of your mind?

[Freeman grabs Rust by the arm, dragging him to his feet and firing him
into the corner where the Australian slaps the hand of Dufresne,
bringing him into the match.]

GM:  Dufresne's in as well - boot to the gut!

[The Ladykiller quickly laces his leg over the back of Rust's neck,
leaping into the air...

...and DRIVING Rust's face into the canvas!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Dufresne flips Rust to his back, reaching back to hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  Out at two!

[The Ladykiller springs to his feet, stomping and kicking the downed
TCR.  He steps up, reaching down to hook Rust by the legs, reaching back
to slap the hand of Freeman...

...and then falling back, catapulting Rust up.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big clothesline on the catapulted Rust!  He's down again!

[Freeman gives City Jack a hard look from across the ring, gesturing for
the big man to get into the fray.  The Australian grabs Rust by the
wrist, dragging him across the ring towards the corner where Jack is
waiting...

...and then leaps up, dropping a knee on the chest of Rust, staying
there as he looks up at Jack.]

GM:  Still trying to get Jack in there... 

[The Australian leaves Rust on the mat near the corner, taking the long
walk across the ring, slapping the hand of Calisto Dufresne who comes in
to join his partner.  They pull Rust up, holding him just in front of
City Jack for a moment...

...and then back away, Dufresne hoisting Rust up in a belly to back
suplex as Freeman laces his arms around the neck of the veteran,
dropping down to the mat with a neckbreaker!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Nice doubleteam by Dufresne and Freeman!  And fans, this is
getting difficult to watch if you're a fan of Tin Can Rust.  He's taking
an absolute beating at the hands of Freeman and Dufresne and because of
the condition of City Jack, he's not able to make the tag to anyone.  I
just don't see how he can get out of this situation... not one bit...

[City Jack is screaming at his partner, begging him to come over to the
corner and slap his outstretched hand.  Calisto Dufresne walks within
arm's reach, slapping the side of his face and begging Jack to take a
swing at him...

...but ducking back before Jack can oblige.]

GM:  Dufresne's just taunting Jack - just taunting him.  Freeman pulls
Rust up by the ropes... a double team here...

[Just a few steps from the Kentucky's Pride corner, Freeman and Dufresne
double whip Tin Can Rust to their own corner.  His back slams into the
buckles, staggering back out as the dastardly duo races towards him...

...and pulls up short, grabbing Rust by the arms again and whipping him
into his own corner where a waiting City Jack anxiously slaps the arm of
his partner to the roar of crowd!]

GM:  CITY JACK!  CITY JACK IS IN!

[A smirking Dufresne and Freeman are waiting as he steps into the ring,
immediately enveloping him with punches and kicks as he gets through the
ropes.]

GM:  Oh no!

BW:  Not so excited now, are ya?

[Suddenly, Tin Can Rust realizes what's going on, shouting "NO!" as the
referee forces him from the ring, leaving City Jack to get battered by
both rulebreakers who quickly drag him to the neutral corner, throwing
rights and lefts to the body...

...when suddenly City Jack - the real City Jack - shows up!]

GM:  HE'S FIGHTING BACK!

[The crowd ROARS to life as Jack throws a left jab to Dufresne, a right
jab to Freeman, a left to Dufresne, a right to Freeman, a left, a right,
a left, a right.  He reaches out and grabs both men by the head...

...and SLAMS their skulls together!  Freeman drops like a rock as Jack
bursts out of the corner, slapping his own chest and letting loose a
loud war whoop.]

GM:  Jack's got Dufresne... irish whip...

[As the Ladykiller rebounds, Jack bursts forward and LEVELS him with a
clothesline!]

GM:  Oh yeah!

[Freeman pulls himself off the mat, staggering towards City Jack who
hoists him into the air...

...and PRESSES HIM HIGH!]

GM:  HE'S GOT FREEMAN UP!

[A big throwing slam brings the crowd to their feet as City Jack slaps
his forearm, waiting for Dufresne to rise again...

...and DRILLS him with a Metropill, knocking him down to the mat!]

GM:  METROPILL!  HE GOT ALL OF THAT ONE!

[Jack drops down to the mat, presumably for a cover.]

GM:  ONE!  No, wait a second!  He's not covering!  What's he doing?

[Leaning over the downed Dufresne, Jack grabs him by the hair, pulling
his head off the mat, and placing it back over his bent knee.  He looks
out at the crowd, letting loose another whoop as he rears back his right
arm...

...and SLAMS his elbow down on the eye of Calisto Dufresne!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[He lifts his arm to repeat...

...but a DIVING save by Adrian Freeman knocks Jack down to the mat,
preventing him from doing more damage to City Jack.  Freeman pops up to
his feet, stomping Jack a couple times.]

GM:  RUST!

[The rampaging Tin Can Rust erupts into the ring, tackling Freeman down
to the mat where both men trade shots, rolling under the ropes and out
to the floor.  Inside the ring, an irate Calisto Dufresne pops up to his
feet, grabbing at his eye...

...and spots the downed City Jack.]

GM:  Dufresne's all over him!

[The crowd jeers as Dufresne drops to his knees, throwing rights and
lefts sloppily down at the face and head of City Jack.]

GM:  Get him off of Jack!

BW:  City Jack's fair game now!  Dufresne's been DREAMING of this
moment!

GM:  What's he- NO!

[The crowd's reaction gets worse as Dufresne reaches down, ripping the
plastic mask off of City Jack, throwing it aside.  He rips and tears at
the bandages as well, fully exposing the injured eye of Jack.]

GM:  Oh, come on!

[Despite the referee's protests, Dufresne balls up his right fist and
slams it down into the eye area.]

GM:  The referee needs to put a stop to this!

[Another punch to the eye connects.  Jack pushes away from Dufresne,
rolling away and trying to backpedal towards the corner while covering
up his eye.  Dufresne gets to his feet, Mickey Meekly getting right up
in his face...

...and getting SHOVED down to the mat!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[Dufresne keeps moving towards the corner where City Jack is now seated
against the buckles, both arms covering his face.  The Ladykiller
delivers a hard kick to the gut, forcing Jack to lower his arms. 
Leaning into the corner, Dufresne pins Jack's head back against the
midbuckle as he slams another fist to the eye.

And another.

And another.

And another.

And another.

And another.]

GM:  STOP HIM!  STOP THE MATCH!

BW:  This is it, Gordo!  City Jack's career ends tonight!

[Another punch lands as a rage-filled Dufresne continues to do damage...

...and suddenly a HUUUUUGE tackle by a returning Tin Can Rust knocks
Dufresne down to the mat.  He takes a few flailing blows from Rust
before rolling under the ropes to the floor.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


BW:  What the-?  What's that for?

GM:  I don't know but- 

[The voice of Melissa Cannon fills the air.]

MC:  Referee Mickey Meekly has stopped this match due to referee abuse. 
Your winners of the match as a result of a disqualification...

...and STILL AWA National Tag Team Champions...

KENTUCKY'S PRIIIIIIIIIIIDE!

[The crowd cheers a bit but is mostly silent as Tin Can Rust kneels in
the corner, his partner right next to him with his hands and arms
covering his face, screaming in pain.]

GM:  My stars... fans, I don't-  I don't know what to say.

[Outside the ring, a recovering Adrian Freeman moves to rejoin his
partner...

...and shoves him hard in the chest!  Freeman points an accusatory
finger in the face of Dufresne, shaking his head as the Ladykiller waves
him off, pointing to the damage he's done inside the ring.  The two
rulebreakers make their way up the aisle, not speaking to one another as
the barricade-side fans let them know what they think of them.

The AWA medical staff hits the ring in a hurry, immediately moving Tin
Can Rust to the side as they check on City Jack, trying to pull his arms
down from his eye so they can examine the damage...

...as we fade to black.

...and then back up on a white screen.  The voice of Gordon Myers is
heard.]

"The AWA took 2008 by storm - breaking the mold of a modern wrestling
promotion.  And now, in 2009, we look to be hotter than ever.

But what if... you missed the beginning?"

[Red text appears on the screen.]

"AWA: YEAR ONE!"

[The text spins out of view to be replaced by a series of still photos
showing action from the first year of AWA action.]

"Witness highlights from the first AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.

See the very first AWA Rumble.

Highlights from Memorial Day Mayhem, The Last Stampede, Thanksgiving
weekend, and much, much more.

Plus, full matches including the 2008 Match of the Year - WarGames!

All of this fantastic AWA action will be available exclusively on DVD
and iTunes!  Check your local stores for details!"

[And with that, we fade to black...

And then back up to backstage we go, where we have the National
Champion, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott already in his ring digs and a big ol'
crap-eating grin on his face.  He stands in the center, with Dane to his
left and his manager, a smug-looking Ben Waterson, standing on his
right.  Waterson, instead of Scott, holds the National Title on his
shoulder.]

JD:  Welcome back, fans.  I am here with Stevie Scott, the AWA National
Heavyweight Champion, as his defense against former World Champion Adam
Rogers draws closer.

[Dane shifts from facing the camera to face Stevie.]

JD: Champ, you have had some pretty big words for your challenger
tonight, Adam Rogers, leading up to this match.  Are you prepared to
back them up?

[Stevie chuckles, but instead it's Waterson who steps forward to
answer.]

ATTSBW: Don't ask such stupid questions, Dane.  Need I remind you that
you are talking to Stevie Scott?  The AWA National Champion?  Need I
remind you that you, just like all the other imbecilic commentators and
announcers here, signed off on a written agreement concerning what you
can and cannot ask the champion?

[Dane stutters his attempt at an answer, but is cut off.]

ATTSBW: One more slip up like that, and the only interview you'll be a
part of is one with a new company, looking for a new job.

[Waterson, who was holding the mic along with Dane, shoves it back
toward the interviewer.  Scott, meanwhile, maintains his grin and
finally begins to speak after Jason stands in uncomfortable silence for
a few seconds.]

HSS: Big words.

Big words, huh, Dane?  Maybe to you, that's all they are.  But to me?

[Stevie laughs.]

HSS: It's just telling it like it is.

In case you've forgotten, Dane...Rogers...or anyone else out there...do
I need to recount the damage that has been left in our wake in just two
short months?  Four men, already sent packing.  And tonight, Dane, mark
my words...

It's going to be five.

Rogers, I heard you earlier tonight...I heard you wondering if you are
on the downward slope of your career, wondering if you have what it
takes to wear the gold once more.

[Stevie pauses, taking the AWA National Title belt off of Waterson's
shoulder and holding it up.]

HSS: Take a good look, big man.  I hope you're sitting in your dressing
room, watching this, biting your fingernails, feeling the butterflies in
your stomach, and having more and more of those doubts...because you
should be doing just that.  Take a good look at this.

[Again he thrusts the title belt toward the camera.]

HSS: Because it's the _last_ time you're going to get that close to _my_
title.  In fact, it's the last time you're going to get that close to
_any_ title.

You want to know if you're done?  Let me just spell it out for you.

Y.

E.

S.

[He laughs again, as Waterson pats him on the shoulder.]

HSS: You're already beat, pal.  You're already wondering if you still
have it.  You don't, of course, but even if you did?  Wouldn't matter.
You've made it too easy for me, really.  You're such a head case, I
didn't even have to _try_ to get into your head.  You did all the work
for me.

Well, I guess Mark Shaw and Adrian Freeman helped along the way.  Hey,
you like hearing those names again? That make you feel any better?

[Steviegrin~!]

HSS: Those two guys were a walk in the park compared to what I've got in
store for you tonight.  Like I said, Dane, mark my words, write it down,
put in on record...

Tonight is the end of _another_ career at the hands of the "Hotshot."

[Waterson leans in to deliver his catchphrase.]

ATTSBW: Consider.  Yourselves.  Warned.

[Waterson and Scott walk off camera, leaving Jason Dane behind.]

JD:  It's Main Event time here at No Escape!  Gordon, Bucky... she's all
yours!

[We dissolve back to ringside where both Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde
are on their feet addressing the camera.]

GM:  Thanks for that, Jason.  And after nearly two and a half hours of
exciting AWA action, it is indeed Main Event time here at No Escape. 
Stevie Scott defending the gold against Adam Rogers - Bucky, your
thoughts.

BW:  I think Stevie Scott is going to make history here tonight.  I
think Stevie Scott is going to show the world that Adam Rogers should
have hung the boots up YEARS ago.  I think he's going to hang on to that
National Title and he's gonna retire Adam Rogers at the same time.  Bank
on it.

GM:  Fans, it should be something else.  Let's go up to Melissa for the
introductions!

[Dissolve to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen, this is your MAIN EVENT of the evening!

[HUGE CHEER!]

MC:  It is scheduled for one fall with a sixty minute time limit and is
for the AWA National Championship!

[BIG CHEER!]

MC:  Introducing first...

[The sounds of Deep Purple's "Smoke On The Water" starts up to an
enormous ovation from the Greensboro crowd.]

MC:  He is the challenger... fighting out of Naples, Florida... standing
6'3 and weighing in at 243 pounds...

He is the Natural...

AAAAAAADAM ROOOOOOGERRRRRS!

[The ovation intensifies as Rogers walks through the curtain.  He pauses
just inside the entryway, looking around at the cheering fans with a
slight smile.  He nods his head in salute and starts jogging down the
aisle.  Clad in a red jacket with "NATURAL" written across the back in
white, Rogers slaps the hands of the ringside fans as he heads towards
the ring.]

GM:  Here he comes, Bucky.  The man who is cashing in a title match here
tonight in an attempt to prove something to himself and the rest of the
wrestling world. 

BW:  What he's going to prove is that Stevie Scott is absolutely right.

GM:  We'll see about that.

[Rogers climbs up the ringsteps, ducking under the ropes into the ring. 
He salutes the fans again before removing his ring jacket, tossing it
over the ropes to the a ringside attendant before turning his focus back
towards the ring entrance, jogging in place as he waits.]

MC:  And his opponent... 

[The sounds of "Pomp And Circumstance" start up to a HUGE explosion of
jeers.]

MC:  He is accompanied to the ring by his agent Ben Waterson... fighting
out of St. Louis, Missouri... standing 5'10 and weighing in at 228
pounds...

He is the AWA National Champion...

He is the Hotshot...

STEEEEEEEEVIE SCOOOOOOOTT!

[The curtain parts as Ben Waterson walks through, nodding his head at
the jeering crowd.  He's applauding as he turns back to the entrance,
all smiles as the National Champion, Stevie Scott, walks into the
Greensboro Coliseum.]

GM:  Here comes the champ!

[Scott steps into view, the title belt secured around his waist.  His
arrogant smirk has the crowd whipped into a frenzy, baying for the blood
of the champion to be spilled.  Scott takes a few steps into the
aisleway, then jerks a thumb over his shoulder as the Gold Bomber, Gary
Bright strides out behind him.]

GM:  Wait a second!  What's HE doing out here?

BW:  The Gold Bomber is the muscle, daddy!  He's out there to make sure
no one comes after Ben, I'd imagine.

GM:  More likely he's out there to protect the National Title!

BW:  Nothing wrong with that.

GM:  I don't like it, Bucky... not one bit.

[The crowd jeers as the trio makes their way down the aisle towards the
ring.  Waterson and Bright pause by the ringsteps, giving a few last
words to the Hotshot before he passes, walking up the stairs, and
ducking into the ring.  He throws both hands into the air to the jeers
of the crowd before taking the title belt off, handing it to AWA Senior
Official Michael Meekly.]

GM:  That's what it's all about, Bucky.  The AWA National Title.  There
are men in this business who would kill to wear that title belt.  

BW:  But is Adam Rogers one of them?

GM:  We're about to find out.

[The referee holds up the title belt before handing it off to the
timekeeper.  Stevie Scott stands across the ring, still in the corner as
Ben Waterson stands on the apron, giving Scott some final words of
advice as the Hotshot keeps his eyes locked on Adam Rogers who is
shifting his weight from leg to leg, looking like he can't wait for the
match to start.]

GM:  The referee instructs Waterson to drop down to the floor...

[Waterson shakes Scott's hand before taking his spot in the corner...

...and referee Michael Meekly signals for the bell!]

GM:  Here we go!

[The two men immediately break out of their corners.  Rogers goes to his
right, looking to circle which forces Scott to do the same, going the
other direction...

...and then they come together in a tieup, Rogers quickly securing a
side headlock.]

GM:  Headlock applied by the challenger...

[Stevie Scott quickly backs to the ropes, shoving Rogers off...

...to which Rogers rebounds off, FLOORING the champion with a big
running shoulderblock to the roar of the crowd!]

GM:  Oh my!  The champion is already downed!  

BW:  That's the size advantage of Rogers coming into play there.  We
know he's taller, he's heavier, he's stronger - but is he better than
the champ?

GM:  That's exactly what we're here to find out, Bucky.

[The champion rolls to his feet, backing up to the corner.  The referee
calls him out of the corner as Rogers stands in the middle of the ring,
fists at the ready.]

GM:  Michael Meekly's trying to get Stevie Scott back out of the corner.
 The champion seems a little rattled by that big tackle there by the
challenger.

[Scott slowly gets to his feet, lunging into another tieup...

...but gets taken right back into a side headlock by the Natural,
squeezing the skull of the champion.]

GM:  Right back to the side headlock... it's a punishing hold in the
right hands, Bucky.

BW:  Like that monster of a man on the floor.  A side headlock by Gary
Bright might pop your head off your shoulders.  

GM:  The champion quickly backs to the ropes, using the momentum to
attempt to throw off the challenger once more...

[But the Natural hangs on, taking Scott down to the mat with a headlock
takeover, cranking down on the head and neck.]

GM:  I don't think there's any question that Adam Rogers is a much
better ring technician than Stevie Scott is.  The Hotshot would be
putting himself in a very foolish position to try and grapple on the mat
with Rogers, Bucky.

BW:  You're absolutely right on that one.  Rogers is a ring general and
Scott is more like a... well, he might have been drafted into duty.  But
he IS the champ and it's up to him to find the right way to get out of
this match with the gold still around his waist.

GM:  Rogers cranking on that headlock... Stevie battling off the mat to
his feet...

[Again, Stevie Scott backs to the ropes, trying to shove Rogers off...

...but again he gets taken over in a headlock takedown, quickly pushed
down onto his shoulders.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Thr- whooooa!  

BW:  That was a little too close.  Stevie needs to keep his focus in
there at all times.  We've all talked about the cradles - the pinning
situations of Adam Rogers.  He can end a match in an instant.

GM:  It looked like Stevie just fell asleep a little bit in that one and
he almost paid the price for it.

[Rogers pushes back up off the mat, still holding the headlock.  The
Hotshot manages to get some movement going, pushing Rogers back into the
corner.  Michael Meekly is immediately on the scene, trying to force the
clean break...

...and he surprisingly gets one as the Hotshot takes a few steps back
towards the center of the ring.]


"It's my belt!  I'm the champ!  Live with it, old man!"


[The crowd jeers the words of Stevie Scott who runs his fingers through
his hair, flipping it back with an arrogant smirk.]

GM:  Stevie Scott trying to get into the head of Adam Rogers a little
bit.  Trying to intimidate him.  But you're talking about a man who was
the World Champion in arguably the largest wrestling promotion ever. 
He's been in countless big matches against the best our industry has to
offer.  Forgive me if I don't think Stevie Scott will intimidate him.

BW:  Probably not but give the champ an "A" for effort, Gordo.

GM:  Rogers shaking his head at the champ as he steps out of the
corner...

[And right back into another tieup, this time Stevie spinning Rogers
around to use his size against him as he pushes him back into the
corner.]

GM:  The ref asking for another clean- ohh!  Stevie jabs him in the ribs
before the break...

[Stepping back, the Hotshot snaps off an overhand slap chop to the chest
of the challenger.  He follows it up with a knife-edge chop before
grabbing the wrist of Rogers.]

GM:  Irish whi- reversed by Rogers!

[The champion hits the buckles, wobbling out...

...and gets ELEVATED with a huge hiptoss takedown out of the corner! 
The champion pops right back to his feet and immediately gets caught in
another side headlock before Rogers takes him down to the canvas in it.]

GM:  Big takedown by the challenger and so far, this can not be the
match that the champion - or his agent - were looking for.

[A nervous-looking Ben Waterson is pacing a bit at ringside, glaring
into the ring as Rogers cranks down on the head and neck with the
headlock.]

GM:  The champion gets his legs under him, trying to stay off the mat -
he needs to stay off his shoulders.

[Back on his feet, Stevie Scott wraps his arms around the waist of
Rogers, hoisting him into the air, and dropping him in a belly to back
suplex to break the hold!]

BW:  That's one way to get out of the headlock!

GM:  It sure is.  Goodness.  The back of Adam Rogers' head and neck
smacked the canvas and that'll ring your bell for sure.

[Stevie Scott quickly rolls to his knees, pulling Rogers' head off the
mat by the hair...

...and DRILLING him with a closed right hand that knocks Rogers back
down to the mat.]

GM:  Michael Meekly's right in there to warn Stevie for the clenched
fist but the champion ignores him as he gets to his feet.

[The champion reaches down, hauling Rogers back to his feet, and firing
him across the ring to the ropes.]

GM:  Off the ropes... backdr- 

[But Rogers leapfrogs over the doubled-up Hotshot, catching him in a
headlock as he turns around, and taking him right back down to the mat
with it!]

GM:  And again back to the head!

BW:  The early part of a championship match is often about finding ways
to wear down your opponent and this is obviously what Adam Rogers has
decided will wear down Stevie Scott.  Stay on the head, make Stevie work
from underneath his weight, tire him out.

GM:  Sounds like a smart strategy.

BW:  No one ever said Adam Rogers couldn't formulate a gameplan, daddy. 
You don't get to be a former World Champion by lucking into it.

[Pushing to his knees, Scott backs Rogers into the ropes, hanging onto
the middle rope which forces the referee to start a five count.  Rogers
breaks the hold, allowing the champion to get to his feet...

...where he shoves Rogers hard in the chest with both hands just before
a right haymaker floors him!]

GM:  Haha!  The Hotshot trying to intimidate Adam Rogers and that just
ain't happening, fans.

[Rogers walks across the ring, stalking the downed Hotshot who scoots
backwards, looking up wide-eyed at his challenger...

...and quickly scampers to his feet, hooking a side headlock of his own
on the incoming Natural.]

GM:  And now the champ goes to the headlock.

[The Hotshot nods his head, lets out a laugh, and pushes Rogers back
against the buckles where he breaks the hold and uncorks a right hand to
the jaw...

...and catches a right hand from Rogers who moves out of the corner,
grabbing Scott to spin him back to the buckles.]

GM:  Look at the Natural!

[With the crowd roaring, Rogers throws a series of big right hands to
the head before doubling over and throwing both rights and lefts to the
body of the champion.  He grabs the wrist of the Hotshot, firing him
across the ring hard to the opposite corner.]

GM:  Stevie hits the buckles hard... staggers out...

[And into a big lift from the Natural who spins him around and RATTLES
the canvas with a body slam right before a lightning quick elbowdrop
across the chest of the champion!  Rogers quickly gets to his feet,
dragging the champion off the mat by the hair.  The Hotshot slaps the
hands away, throwing a right hand...

...but has it blocked just before a right hand from Rogers knocks Stevie
on his tail where he rolls under the ropes to the floor where Ben
Waterson is immediately on the scene to talk to him.]

GM:  These Greensboro fans are on their feet, Bucky!  Adam Rogers has
electrified this crowd that has seen so much great action here tonight
at No Escape.  It would just be the icing on the cake to see a new
National Champion crowned in Adam Rogers.

BW:  Not on any cake I'd want to eat that's for sure.

GM:  Waterson is right there to check on his man.  He's patting Stevie
on the back, giving him some advice.  What kind of advice would you give
the Hotshot right now?

BW:  Stay focused.  Stay on your game.  Go back to what got you here.

GM:  A metal briefcase to the skull?

BW:  If that's what it takes, hell yes.

[Stevie Scott stays outside the ring for quite some time, using the
referee's ten count to his advantage.  Inside the ring, Adam Rogers
paces back and forth, ready to continue the fight.  At the count of
seven, Scott climbs the ringsteps onto the apron, ducking through the
ropes where Rogers is waiting in another tieup...

...but the Hotshot immediately goes to the eyes!]

GM:  Ohh!  Scott raked the eyes and that'll get you every time.  He
grabs Rogers by the arm, Irish whip...

[As the Natural rebounds, the Hotshot hooks him and tosses him overhead
and down with a Japanese style armdrag!]

GM:  Ohh!  Unique armdrag there by Scott and that puts Rogers back down
on the canvas as well.

[Stevie springs to his feet, obviously quite pleased with himself as he
walks towards the downed Rogers, delivering a hard boot to the ribcage
that knocks Rogers under the ropes to the ring apron.]

GM:  The Natural goes out to the apron, maybe looking for a breather.

[Reaching over the ropes, Stevie hauls Rogers up to his feet...

...where the Natural uncorks a forearm smash to the side of the jaw that
stuns the champion!  The crowd cheers as Rogers leans over, lunging
forward to drive his shoulder into Stevie's midsection, doubling him up.
 Grabbing the top rope, Rogers slingshots over the top, easily pulling
Scott down in a sunset flip!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- OHHHH!

[The Natural shows off his cradle skills by scoring a very close
nearfall early in the matchup, the Hotshot just barely kicking out in
time.  But the champion is quickly to his feet, catching a rising Rogers
with a kneelift that knocks Rogers back into the buckles.]

GM:  Rogers in the corner...

[The Hotshot measures him...

...and ROCKS him with a knife-edge chop across the chest!]

BW:  Woooo!  Big chop by the champ!

[A second chop connects as well before Stevie pulls Rogers out of the
corner, forcing him down and locking up the arms in a double underhook
before taking Rogers up and over in a suplex!]

GM:  Nice butterfly suplex by the National Champion!

BW:  And Stevie's showing off a little bit, I think.  He wants the world
to know he's no slouch inside that ring.  Adam Rogers may have the
technicial advantage but Stevie's got some skillz - with a z mind you-
as well.

GM:  With a z, huh?

[A few hard stomps by Stevie Scott sends Rogers rolling over towards the
ropes.  The champion approaches, dragging Rogers off the mat by the
hair, and shoving him down so that his throat is draped over the middle
rope.]

GM:  Uh oh - look at this!

[The Hotshot leans down on the back of Rogers' neck, strangling the
challenger over the middle rope.]

GM:  That's a choke!  A blatant choke!

[With a quick four count, Michael Meekly forces Stevie to break the
choke, backing him away from Rogers...

...which allows Gary Bright to wind up and BLAST the
draped-over-the-middle-rope Adam Rogers across the jaw with a right
hand, knocking him back into the ring.]

GM:  Ohh!  Come on!

BW:  Did you see that, Gordo?  Rogers took a swing at the Gold Bomber
and Bright had to pop him one!

GM:  He did what?  You're out of your mind!  That was an unprovoked
assault by Gary Bright on the man who is challenging for the National
Title!

[A few more stomps to the ribs by Stevie forces Rogers under the ropes
to the floor.  The Hotshot wastes no time in rolling out to the floor
after him.]

GM:  Stevie's going out after him - this is where Stevie Scott has an
advantage over Adam Rogers.  

BW:  His brawling skills?

GM:  No, those two pieces of work on the floor that came out here with
him.

[Out on the floor, the Hotshot pulls Rogers off the barely-padded
concrete...

...and SLAMS his head into the ringside railing!]

GM:  Headfirst into the steel barricade!

[Balling up his fist, Stevie blasts Rogers across the side of the jaw,
knocking him down to a knee.  The Hotshot quickly throws another
clenched fist, flooring the Natural.]

GM:  Stevie rolls back in... and then right back out.

BW:  Smart move to break the count.  He wants to make sure he doesn't
get counted out at this stage of the match.

GM:  At this stage of the match?  When WOULD he want to get counted out?

BW:  You never know, Gordo.  

[Pulling Rogers off the floor, Scott SLAMS him into the steel barricade
again - this time his ribs smashing into the metal as he collides with
the solid railing.  With the Natural down on the floor, the Hotshot
rolls back into the ring...

...and orders the referee to start a ten count.]

GM:  Oh, look at this... the Hotshot is willing to retain the title
however he can!

BW:  Of course he is, Gordo.  Why wouldn't he be?  If you're not in this
business to be the National Champion, you'd better see if the garbage
collectors are hiring.

GM:  The referee's count is up to three... but the Natural is back on
his feet, stumbling towards the apron...

[The champion reaches over the ropes, hauling Rogers to a standing
position on the apron by the hair...

...and then drops down to the mat, snapping Rogers' windpipe down on the
top rope!]

GM:  Ohh!  That'll take a lot of wind out of the challenger's sails!

[Rogers falls back down to the floor, kneeling on the barely-padded
concrete, coughing and gasping for air.]

GM:  The challenger is down - and here comes the champion once again!

[Dropping to the floor, the Hotshot pulls Adam Rogers off the floor...

...and promptly SLAMS his skull into the steel ringpost, sending Rogers
down to the floor in a heap again.  Inside the ring, the referee warns
the Hotshot for his tactics and the champion replies by stepping on the
throat of Rogers, choking the life out of him once more.]

GM:  He's choking him again!  Stevie Scott knows that if he's going to
win this match, he's going to need every dirty tactic he's got in his
playbook.

BW:  I've seen that playbook.  Looks like an encyclopedia.  A paper
version of Wikipedia for you idiot kids at home.

GM:  Is that necessary?  

[After a bit of choking, Scott peels off, rolling back into the ring
where he waits for the Natural.  Rogers is up at the count of six,
dragging himself back onto the apron.]

GM:  Rogers on the apron... look out here...

[The Hotshot bends Rogers back over the top rope, smashing down with a
forearm across the chest.  He spins Rogers around, snapmaring him over
the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  Finally, we get both men back inside the squared circle and Stevie
Scott is instantly on him, trying to keep on the assault.


"TEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  TEN MINUTES!"


GM:  You hear the call of ten minutes.  Plenty of time left in this one.
 The Hotshot is right on him, stomping and kicking the challenger,
trying to knock all that stamina out of him.

[Reaching down, the Hotshot drags Rogers up by the hair, popping him
with a right hand that knocks the Natural back to the corner where Scott
immediately splashes him across the chest with a knife-edge chop!]

GM:  What a shot by the champion.  He's got Rogers reeling after that
one.

[A clenched fist to the midsection has Rogers doubled up and sucking
wind.  Scott grabs him by the hair, pulling his head back...

...and driving a hard right hand into the side of the head, causing
Michael Meekly to step in again, insisting that the Hotshot open the
fists up.]

GM:  The referee is warning the champion but I'm not sure that does any
good right now.  Stevie Scott is doing whatever the heck he wants inside
that ring right now, Bucky.

[The Hotshot holds up an open hand to the referee and SLAPS Rogers hard
across the face!  The jeering crowd is all over Stevie Scott as he pulls
Rogers off the buckles, shoving him down to the mat.]

GM:  Blatant disrespect on display by the National Champion with that
chop.  Completely unnecessary.

BW:  Depends who you ask, I guess.  I like to think of it as the champ
trying to break the challenger's spirit.

GM:  Good luck in doing that.

[Rogers rolls off the mat, getting to his knees as the arrogant National
Champion approaches...

...and gets caught in the midsection with a right hand by his
challenger!]

GM:  Ohh!  Rogers catches him coming in!

[Stevie Scott shakes off the gutshot, pulling Rogers up to his feet by
the hair, and snapping off another chop across the chest...

...and eats a right hand from Rogers in response!  Big cheer!]

GM:  The Natural is fighting back!

[The champion throws another big chop...

...and eats another right hand!  And another!]

GM:  Rogers has him reeling and-

[A wind-up right hand catches Scott under the chin, knocking him into
the corner...

...where Rogers immediately hops up on the midbuckle, fist raised!]

"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"
"SEVEN!"
"EIGHT!"
"NINE!"
"TEN!"

[Rogers hops down off the buckles, shoving Scott out of the corner where
he grabs him by the arm, firing him across the ring...

...where he tumbles OVER the ropes, crashing down to the barely-padded
concrete floor!  Ben Waterson races to his side, helping him up off the
floor as he whispers words of encouragement to his charge.]

GM:  Look at Waterson over there with his meal ticket.

BW:  That's not a very nice thing to say.

GM:  Why would I say nice things about two snakes in the grass like
them?  Don't forget it was just a couple months ago at Death Or Glory
that they pulled the wool over ALL of our eyes when they stole the
National Title!

BW:  Stole it?  That was a completely fair and legal victory in my eyes.

GM:  He hit Sudakov with a metal briefcase!

BW:  He did?  Missed that one.

GM:  I'm sure.  

[Scott ducks in under the ropes, quickly dragged to his feet and shoved
back into the corner by Rogers who hops up on the middle rope, raising
his right hand and letting it fly!]

GM:  Punches in the corner again!

[The crowd counts along with them, hitting ten before Rogers hops down
off the ropes, hooking Scott under the arm...

...and HURLING him from the corner in a high impact biel throw!]

GM:  Scott goes down again!

[Rogers moves in again, approaching quickly as Stevie backs off to the
corner, lifting his hands up to defend himself...

...and jabbing a thumb into the eye of the Natural!]

GM:  Cheap shot right there by the champion going to the eyes of Adam
Rogers and-

[Leaning over, the Hotshot yanks both of Rogers' legs out from under
him, hooking behind the knees and turning Rogers over onto his stomach!]

GM:  BOSTON CRAB!

[The crowd buzzes with concern as the Hotshot leans back in the Crab,
screaming "This is it!  It's over!"]

GM:  He's got the Boston Crab applied and he's got it in deep!

[The Natural pushes his arms underneath him, bracing himself, and then
going into a full pushup...

...and forcing Scott off, slamming chestfirst into the buckles!]

GM:  He breaks the hold!  Adam Rogers breaks the hold!

BW:  It was a little early to go for something like that and you can
tell from the look on Waterson's face, he feels the same way.  He looks
pretty frustrated right now.

[But before Rogers can get off the mat, Stevie spins around and drops a
big elbow on the lower back of the Natural.  He gets off the mat,
planting his knee into the back of Rogers while locking in a chinlock.]

GM:  Stevie Scott has grounded the Natural at this stage in the matchup.
 And this is very well executed, Bucky. 

BW:  Absolutely.  The knee in the back, the fingers locked under the
chin yanking back on it.  This will weaken the neck of Rogers as well as
the back and it'll buy Stevie Scott some breathing time.

GM:  And I'd have to say that may be the most important thing.  There's
no questioning the stamina of Adam Rogers - who can forget that epic one
hour draw earlier this year against Marcus Broussard but we've never
seen Stevie Scott in a lengthy battle that I can recall, Bucky.

BW:  He went nearly thirty minutes with Sudakov, Gordo.  That's like an
hour against most guys.

GM:  Perhaps.

[Stevie shouts "Ask him!" in the direction of the official who does
exactly that.  Rogers refuses to submit though which causes the Hotshot
to break the hold...

...and drop a knee down on the lower back!]

GM:  And apparently Stevie Scott has decided that the lower back of Adam
Rogers is his target here tonight.  I can not recall any history of back
injuries from the Natural.  Can you?

BW:  Not really but you just never can tell what someone else has
spotted.

GM:  Stevie drags Rogers to his feet off the mat, the champ fires him to
the ropes...OHHH!

[The crowd gasps as the Hotshot connects with a back elbow smash right
up against the ropes that knocks the Natural over the ropes to the
floor...

...where he falls backward, SMASHING backfirst into the steel railing!]

GM:  INTO THE RAILING HE GOES!

[Rogers collapses on the floor, his arm wrenching around to grab at his
lower back while Stevie Scott leans on the top rope inside the ring,
smirking at the downed challenger.  Waterson shouts a few words to the
Hotshot who nods before stepping out to the apron, dropping down to the
floor.]

GM:  The champ's out on the floor - going after the Natural...

[Pulling Rogers to his feet, Scott uncorks another chop, knocking Rogers
back against the railing where he nearly falls into the front row before
Scott drags him back in, firing him under the ropes into the ring.  He
rolls in right behind, applying a lateral press for a two count before
the challenger kicks out.]

GM:  Only a two there for the champ.

[Stevie shakes his head as he pulls Rogers off the mat, hitting a right
hand that knocks Rogers back into the corner.  The champion slowly moves
in...

...and gets POPPED with a knife-edge chop!]

GM:  Ohhh!

[The champion shakes off the effects of the chop, firing another
haymaker...

...and getting caught with another chop!]

GM:  Rogers is fighting back!  He's trying to battle out of the corner!

[The crowd ROARS to life as Stevie and Rogers stand off, trading
haymaker for chop and chop for haymaker.  Finally, Rogers get the edge,
firing chop after chop after chop...

...and then landing a HUUUUUGE right hand that knocks the Hotshot down
to the mat, allowing Rogers to dive on top of him for a two count.]

GM:  Another two count - this one for the challenger.  Both of these men
are going right for a cover whenever they can do it, Bucky.

BW:  It's the National Title on the line.  How could you not?

[The Natural quickly rolls into a mount position, grabbing the Hotshot's
head with his left hand while holding up his right fist to a huge cheer
from the crowd...

...and pops Scott in the skull with it!  The crowd roars as Rogers
throws punch after punch with great velocity and impact - the referee
moving in to count the illegal action.]

GM:  Rogers is beatin' the tar out of him, Bucky!

[The crowd counts along, exceeding ten before the referee's count hits
four, forcing Rogers to get to his feet.  Groaning in pain, the Hotshot
rolls away from the Natural, rolling under the ropes and out to the
apron.  Waterson waves him to the floor but before the champion can get
there, Rogers reaches over the ropes, dragging him to his feet.]

GM:  Rogers is looking to bring him in the hard way!

[The Natural hoists Scott high into the air, holding him way up there
for everyone to see, showing his strength...

...and then drops back, smashing the champion into the mat as Rogers
floats over into a lateral press.]

GM:  One!!  Two!!  Shoulder up!  The champ got the shoulder up!

[Outside the ring, Ben Waterson is SCREAMING at his charge, trying to
get him back on track...

...and his voice only grows more urgent as Adam Rogers gets up off the
mat, looking around, and points to the corner.]

GM:  Where is he going, Bucky?

[Rogers backs into the corner, hopping up to the middle rope, looking
down at the stunned Hotshot...

...and takes flight, DRIVING the knee down into the chest of the
National Champion!]

GM:  MIDDLE ROPE KNEEDROP!  HE NAILED IT!

[The challenger applies a lateral press again, reaching back this time
to hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But the champion kicks out at two, allowing Waterson to breathe a
little easier.  He whispers a few words to Gary Bright who nods his
head.  Rogers regains his feet, checking to make sure that it was indeed
a two count before leaning over to pull Stevie Scott off the mat...

...and gets pulled down in an inside cradle!]

GM:  CRADLE!  ONE!  TWO!  TH- OUT!  OUT AT TWO!

BW:  That was close, Gordo!  Stevie almost snatched it right there!

[Both men are a little slow to get to their feet this time but reach a
vertical base at about the same time, the Hotshot rushing forward with
his arm outstretched...

...but Rogers sidesteps, grabbing the arm as he goes by, bending it
behind him as he reaches up to hook the face as well.]

GM:  CROSSFACE CHICKEN WI- ohhh!

[The crowd boos as the champion lunges for the ropes, breaking the
attempt at procuring the hold by Rogers.  The referee counts quickly and
Rogers backs away, the champion slipping through the ropes and dropping
to the floor to regroup.  He's quickly joined by Ben Waterson who is
giving him all sorts of guidance as the Natural paces back and forth
inside the ring, waiting for the champion to return.]

GM:  The champ out on the floor, the Hotshot pacing around the ring,
looking for a chance to get right back at him.

BW:  Look at this, Gordo.

[The crowd begins to boo loudly as Gary Bright steps up on the apron,
drawing Rogers' attention who spins around, pointing at him to the
official...

...which allows Stevie Scott to dash under the ropes, racing across the
ring, and BLASTING Rogers in the back of the head with a double
axehandle that knocks the challenger back down to the canvas!]

GM:  That was a set up, Bucky!

BW:  It sure was and from the look on his face, I'd say Waterson was the
mastermind behind that one.  

[The big grin certainly seems to imply that - only growing wider as the
Hotshot drives a few more stomps to the back of the head.  The champion
hauls him back to his feet, pulling him into a double underhook.]

GM:  Suplex?

[With the crowd jeering the Hotshot hoists Rogers off the mat in the
double underhook, flipping him over...

...and DUMPING him across his bent knee!]

GM:  OHHH!!

BW:  SPINAL TAP!

GM:  He covers!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- NO!  NO!

[The crowd roars as Rogers fires a shoulder off the mat just before the
three count after the double underhook backbreaker.  Scott quickly
straddles Rogers' chest, throwing punch after punch after punch as the
crowd jeers.]

GM:  The Hotshot's all over him!  Listen to these fans!  

[The referee breaks off the barrage with his count, forcing the Hotshot
to get back to his feet.  He drags Rogers up off the mat, SLAMMING
Rogers' face into the buckles.  He snaps off a big chop across the chest
before driving in a knee to the midsection.]

GM:  Scott hooks a front facelock... what's he doing now?

[Holding the facelock, the Hotshot hops up to a seat on the top buckle. 
He holds Rogers for a moment, then swings out of the corner, SPIKING
Rogers skullfirst into the canvas!]

GM:  DDT!  DDT!

BW:  The tornado DDT out of the corner and the challenger...is... done!

GM:  We'll see about that!

[The champion climbs to his feet, waving his arms in a "it's over"
gesture as he delivers a couple of stomps to the chest of the downed
Natural...

...and then heads towards the corner.]

GM:  Stevie Scott's heading for the high rent district!

[The crowd buzzes as the Hotshot steps up to the middle rope, facing
away from the ring...

...and then steps to the top rope!]

GM:  STEVIE SCOTT IS GONNA FLY!

[Not even looking back, the Hotshot LEAPS from his perch, backflipping
through the air in a moonsault...

...and LANDING squarely on the knees of the challenger!]

GM:  OHHHH!  KNEES!  KNEES!  THE CHAMP EATS THE KNEES!

[The champion rolls to the center of the ring, clutching his ribcage as
Ben Waterson LOSES HIS MIND outside of the ring.  He's ranting and
raving, kicking the ring apron, screaming at anyone and everyone.  The
Natural rolls to his knees, nodding his head at the roaring Greensboro
crowd as he pushes up to his feet.]

GM:  This is it!  This is the challenger's moment!

[Pulling the Hotshot off the mat, Rogers fires him into the ropes...

...and scoops him in the air on the rebound, spinning like a top, and
DRIVING Scott into the mat!]

GM:  POWERSLAM!  HE GOT ALL OF THAT!

[Rogers lunges across the champion, reaching back to hook the leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- OHHHHHH!

[A frustrated Rogers slaps the mat as he gets to his knees.  He's
shaking his head as he climbs to his feet, dragging Scott off the mat
with him...

...and applying a waistlock!]

GM:  WAISTLOCK!

[The crowd ROARS as Rogers attempts to hoist the Hotshot in the air for
a German suplex...

...but Stevie Scott slumps down to the mat, blocking the lift.  A
furious Rogers breaks the waistlock, raining down blows on the back of
the head and neck, yanking him off the mat again.]

GM:  Another waistlock applied - let's see if he can get him this
time...


"TWENTY MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  TWENTY MINUTES!"


[In pure desperation, the National Champion positions his leg and DRIVES
his foot backwards, squarely into the groin of the Natural!]

GM:  OHHH!  LOW BLOW!  LOW BLOW!!

[The Natural slumps to the mat as Stevie Scott falls to the mat,
crawling to the floor.  The referee lifts his arm to signal for the
bell...

...but Adam Rogers grabs his leg!]

GM:  That's gotta be a disqualification!  Stevie Scott just got himself
disqualified so he can retain the title.  Look at him... he's got the
belt and he's ready to get out of here.  He's running out of here like a
thief in the night.

BW:  Big defense for the champ!  Way to go, buddy!

GM:  Wait a second!

[Adam Rogers pulls himself to his knees, shaking his head at Michael
Meekly, begging and pleading.]

GM:  I think... I think...

[Michael Meekly nods his head, waving his arms, gesturing for the match
to continue.]

GM:  The ref's not going to DQ him!  Adam Rogers just begged him not to
and-

BW:  It doesn't matter, Gordo.  The Hotshot's out of here!

[Rogers rolls from the ring, turning towards where Stevie Scott has fled
the scene...

...and starts marching up the aisle after him!]

GM:  He's going after the champion!  He's going after the Hotshot!

[The challenger moves quickly up the aisle, reaching the Hotshot just
before he disappears into the curtain...

...and BLASTING him with a right hand!]

GM:  HE NAILS THE CHAMP!

[Rogers grabs Stevie Scott by the hair, dragging the Hotshot back
towards the ring.  The crowd roars as Rogers drills the champion with a
right hand again, sending the champ staggering towards the ring.  At
ringside, Ben Waterson is SCREAMING at the referee.]

GM:  Rogers is at ringside... and in goes the champion!

[The cheers intensify as Adam Rogers climbs up on the apron, stepping
into the ring with a downed National Champion.]

GM:  Rogers is on the attack, Stevie in the corner...

[A rushing clothesline catches the Hotshot under the chin.  Rogers
quickly hooks him under the arm...

...and HURLS him out of the corner in a hiptoss!]

GM:  THE CHAMP IS DOWN AGAIN!

[Rogers pulls him up again, firing him into the ropes.  And as the
National Champion rebounds, Rogers tilt-a-whirls him into the air, and
DRIVES him down to the mat with a sitout tiger driver!]

GM:  NATURAL DISASTER!!  NATURAL DISASTER!!

[The referee dives to the mat, lifting his hand.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- NO!  THE REF GOT PULLED FROM THE RING!

[A stunned Rogers pushes up to his knees, looking out to the floor where
Ben Waterson has yanked the official under the ropes to the floor, just
barely breaking the count in time.  Rogers slams both fists into the
canvas, getting to his feet, and moving to the floor...]

GM:  Rogers is going out to the floor.  I don't know- OHHHH!

[The crowd EXPLODES as Rogers DROPS Ben Waterson with a right hand,
knocking him flat...

...but turns right into a rushing clothesline from Gary Bright!  The
referee somehow misses the clothesline as he's sliding back into the
ring, turning around to see Rogers laid out on the floor!]

GM:  This match should be over!  The Natural Disaster would have done it
but Gary Bright and Ben Waterson just saved the National Title for
Stevie Scott!  The champion's gold just got saved!

[Bright pulls Rogers off the floor, shoving him under the ropes where
Stevie Scott immediately crawls across the ring, lunging into a cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- NO!  SHOULDER UP!

[A furious Scott wraps his hands around the throat of Rogers, strangling
him until the referee forces him to break it at the count of four.  The
Hotshot gets off the mat to his feet, dragging Rogers off the mat.]

GM:  Stevie picks him up... big slam in the middle of the ring...

[The Hotshot points to the corner, nodding his head as he strides across
the ring... 

...and starts climbing the ropes again!]

GM:  He's going up again!

BW:  Another Steviesault?!

GM:  This blew up in his face last time.  This time, he must think he's
got Rogers down and hurting enough to make it happen.  Scott to the
second rope... 

[Suddenly, Adam Rogers rolls to his chest, pushing up off the mat to his
knees...

...and HURLS himself at the ropes, causing Scott to fall from his perch,
crotching the top rope!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHH!  STEVIE GOT CAUGHT!

[And with the champion precariously perched, the Natural steps up to the
second rope, reaching over to wrap his arms around the waist of the the
Hotshot...

...and then steps to the top rope, the crowd ROARING with anticipation
as he picks Scott up!]

GM:  OH...MY... GOOOOOOOOOD!

[The crowd EXPLODES as Rogers hoists Stevie Scott into the air, both men
sailing off the top rope...

...and the back of the Hotshot's head and neck SLAMMING into the canvas
at top impact!]

GM:  SUPERPLEX!  BELLY TO BACK SUPERPLEX!!

[Both men lie motionless on the canvas, stunned from the impact of the
crash to the mat.]

GM:  Both men are down... both men are motionless.  Adam Rogers just
rolled the dice and he may have come up snake eyes for both of these
men, Bucky.

BW:  Waterson's losing his mind out on the floor, screaming for Stevie
to get up... to keep going...

GM:  The Natural's barely able to move... I'm pretty sure he smacked the
back of his head on the mat...

[The referee kneels down to check on both men...

...and then straightens up, signalling that he's about to start a ten
count.]

GM:  This might be it, fans.  Senior Official Michael Meekly is about to
start a ten count...

[And so it begins.]

GM:  Adam Rogers, breaking up the attempt at the moonsault, hitting that
amazing top rope belly-to-back superplex... awesome.  But the impact has
put him down as well as Stevie Scott...

BW:  Waterson is begging Stevie to get up... listen to him...

GM:  These fans are on their feet, trying to cheer the Natural on.  The
count hits three... now four...

[Rogers rolls to his side, one hand on the back of his head as the
referee continues his count, holding up five fingers as Stevie Scott
rolls all the way to his stomach.]

GM:  Both men are moving!  The count is still going but both men are
moving.  Would you look at this?

[The count hits seven as Adam Rogers reaches the corner, pulling himself
up using the ropes.  The referee breaks the count as the challenger
slowly moves across the ring towards the downed National Champion.]

GM:  Rogers is moving in, pulling Stevie off the mat...

[As soon as he hits his feet, the Hotshot fires!]

GM:  HEATSEEK-

[But the desperately thrown superkick fails to connect as Rogers catches
the leg, quickly sweeping the other leg with his foot, and then grabbing
both legs, stepping through them...]

GM:  NATURAL SELECTION!  

BW:  The Last Rites!  The hold he learned and mastered during his wars
with Caleb Temple!

GM:  And is the Last Rites for the title reign of Stevie Scott?  Rogers
is trying to get it on!  Trying to turn it over!  Trying to-

[EARTHSHATTERING ROAR!]

GM:  IT'S ON!  IT'S LOCKED IN!

[Rogers sits back in the sharpshooter leglock, Scott screaming in pain
as he claws at the canvas, desperately searching for a way out...

...and an equally desperate Ben Waterson hops up on the apron, forcing
Rogers to break the hold, and BLAST Waterson with a right hand, knocking
him off the apron to the floor!]

GM:  WATERSON'S DOWN!  

BW:  But he got that hold broken!

GM:  Rogers pulls Stevie off the mat... waistlock!

[The Natural charges towards the ropes, smashing the National Champion's
chest into the top rope, falling back into a rolling reverse cradle as
the referee dives to make the count...

...but before Rogers can fall back in the Natural Bridge, Gary Bright
climbs up on the apron.]

GM:  BRIGHT!  BRIGHT'S ON THE APR- OHHHH!

BW:  Not anymore!

GM:  Rogers has floored Waterson!  He's floored Gary Bright!  Now all
that's left is to-

[Rogers turns around to face the champion who lashes out with a
Heatseeker style side kick but aimed at the midsection of the challenger
who doubles up from the impact.  The Hotshot quickly steps forward,
hooking a standing headscissors as he reaches under Rogers to wrap his
arms around the waist.]

GM:  Wait a second!  What's he-

[The National Champion straightens up, hoisting Rogers off the canvas
and holding him upside down...

...and sits out, DRIVING Rogers SKULLFIRST into the mat!]

GM:  PILEDRIVER!  PILEDRIVER ON ADAM ROGERS!

[The crowd falls silent at the sight of Rogers' skull being spiked into
the mat as Stevie Scott throws himself across the Natural's chest.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The stunned crowd sits in total silence as Stevie Scott rolls from the
ring, snatching the title belt away from the timekeeper and quickly
moving to join a slightly-dazed Gary Bright and a slightly more-dazed
Ben Waterson in the aisleway.]

MC:  Your winner of the match... and STILL AWA National Champion...

"HOTSHOT" STEEEEEEEVIE SCOTT!

[Stevie thrusts the title belt high in the air, receiving only a
smattering of boos as he looks into the ring where an unmoving Adam
Rogers is still in the same position.  AWA Senior Official Michael
Meekly looks very concerned, kneeling next to Rogers, trying to speak
with him.  Meekly suddenly stands up, waving towards the locker room.]

GM:  What kind of a... I can't believe what we just saw.  What kind of a
sick individual would do this, Bucky?

BW:  I'm a little speechless myself.

GM:  Stevie Scott just used the piledriver to win this match but the
real question is - what has he done to Adam Rogers with it?  Rogers
isn't moving.  Not a single inch.  Not his arms, his legs... nothing.  

BW:  Here comes some medical team members now...

[A quartet of EMTs hit the ring, diving under the ropes to where Adam
Rogers is still lying.]

GM:  Earlier tonight, I talked about a piledriver possibly ending a
career.  How you could put someone in a wheelchair for the rest of their
life with a piledriver and how it's been banned in several states. 
There is no justification - absolutely none - for using that move. 
Stevie Scott is a cold blooded son of a... 

[Myers' voice trails off as the cameraman zooms in on the medical team
working on Rogers.  The voice of Adam Rogers weakly trying to talk is
heard but nothing more than jumbled mutterings as the medical team
continues their efforts.]

GM:  This is a horrible situation and an absolutely awful way to end
this show, Bucky.  But we're out of time and we've got to go.  From what
I understand, we'll be having a special post-game edition of AWA Access
online as soon as possible.  We'll update you on the status of Adam
Rogers at that time but... well, you can see what's going on as well as
we can.  Fans, for Jason Dane and Bucky Wilde, I'm Gordon Myers and...

[The camera holds on Adam Rogers - still motionless.]

GM:  Good night everybody.

[The camera continues to hold on Rogers and the medical team as we fade
to black.]